


2.19 Shot to the Heart

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Humor, Jealousy, Music, Romance, Woodstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: Woodstick 2014, and Wendy's just gotta be there, man! So the gang heads in . . . but an old grudge threatens to cause complications. Wendip ahead, by the way.





	1. Brand New Day

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Gravity Falls or its characters, the property of the Walt Disney Company and Alex Hirsch. I write only for fun, because I love Alex Hirsch's creation and his people and, I hope, to entertain other fans; I make no money from my fanfictions.

**Shot to the Heart**

**By William Easley**

**(August 1-3, 2014)**

* * *

 

**Chapter 1: "Brand New Day"**

It really began, again, late Thursday afternoon: After his shift in the Mystery Shack Snack Bar ended, T.K. O'Grady had asked Mabel if she'd like to go to the mall with him.

Of course she did, so she rode Wendy's old bike and T.K. rode his own and they had a fine time window-shopping, buying a few little odds and ends, and spoiling their dinners with puffy, soft, salty pretzels and icy Sluppies—the latter a Gravity Falls special, slushy frozen drinks that tasted nothing at all like the advertised flavors (in a blindfolded taste test, nine out of ten people would say "sugar water" even if sipping a Mango-Pineapple-Coconut Giganto with habanero syrup) and were also guaranteed to cause acute-onset brain freeze.

Then in the late afternoon, after they left the mall, the two teens rode downtown and roamed around for a while, wasted a little time in the arcade, saw Pacifica as she was leaving a department store and greeted her. She was in a hurry, though, because she was getting ready for a dinner date with her boyfriend Adam at the fancy Fruits de Mer Somptueux restaurant. Mabel and Teek just chatted with her for a minute, and then they started for home.

And that was when they had to stop for heavy traffic passing along the cross street. A bus cruised by, decorated like something out of a clown's nightmare, with the sounds of guitar chords and tambourine jangles spilling from it. Another, smaller bus followed, painted completely black, though with colorful stencils of frowny faces, and by the time they saw the third one, painted to look like a junked, rusty school busy with shattered windows barely clinging in the frames—though if you looked close, that was the effect of transparent decals—Mabel  _knew_.

Oh, she  _knew_. "We gotta get to the Shack, and fast!" she yelled, and they tore off, zipping across the street during a temporary lull in traffic, pedaling hard as they left town on the two-mile long uphill grade to the new Mystery Shack sign and the turnoff to the parking lot, Mabel in the lead by ten lengths.

Mabel didn't bother to park the bike but leaped off, leaving it to wheel along across the lawn on its own for ten yards before its momentum ran out and it wobbled and clattered to the ground. She left Teek behind and burst through the gift-shop door, grabbed an airhorn from a shelf, and blew an ear-shattering blast on it (causing the three remaining customers to jump like Mexican jumping beans on uppers) and yelled, "Code psychedelic, people! This is  _not_  a drill!"

"Wowsers!" Wendy said, wincing at a second  _WHONNK!_  from the horn. "Mabel, what's up?"

Dipper, at the cash register, shook his head. "And . . . I think I'm deaf now."

"It's back! It's back!" Mabel shouted, leaping onto the counter like Teddy Roosevelt charging up San Juan Hill. "People! Musicians are pouring into town!"

"Oh, dude, it's Woodstick!" Wendy said to Dipper. "I'd totally forgotten that was coming up this weekend!"

"Huh?" Dipper tapped on his right ear. "Something's totally rotten and weak?"

Mabel ran down the counter as far as the register. Up there, she even towered over Wendy, but she bent over to press a finger against the redhead's lips. "Shhh! Sh-sh! Must not let Grunkle Stan know!"

"Know what?" rumbled a rusty-sounding voice as Stanley Pines himself came in from the Staff Only doorway. "What's shakin', Pumpkin?"

"Nothing!" Mabel said, spreading jazz hands and smiling in a strained way to show her innocence. "Nothing at all, Grunkle Stan!" She giggled nervously. "There's _certainly_  not a music festival for indie bands in Gravity Falls this weekend, if that's what you're implying!"

"Yeah, there is," Stan said. He paused and snatched a T-shirt from a startled tourist's hands. "Gimme that! Uh-uh, you don't want this tee. It'll shrink if you even get it  _near_ water. Buy the sweatshirt instead! Same design, colorfast, won't shrink, makes you look hip, and only five bucks more! It's a steal, I'm tellin' ya! A  _steal!"_  He thrust the sweatshirt into the man's hands, grabbed his shoulders and shook him until his head bobbed. "Buy! The! Sweatshirt!"

"Uhbudauhbudaubada—Uh." The guy's eyes still rattled a little even after Stan let go of his shoulders. "Oh, yeah. Uh. Thanks!" the guy said vaguely, and still looking stunned, he took the sweatshirt to Dipper at the register.

"Where were we?" Stan asked, standing next to Wendy and leaning his elbow on the counter. "Oh, yeah. I lured Woodstick back into town this year! You guys must not've been out on the highway lately—you'd have noticed the billboards."

"Wait, what?" Mabel asked, jumping down from the counter. " _You_  lured them back? You  _hate_  Woodstick!"

"Pft! Nah, I used to hate that they pulled tourists away from the Shack," Stan told her. "But now that I'm gettin' to be a music promoter, it's a business opportunity!  _Somebody's_ gotta sell these yutzes their food, drinks, and tchotchkes, overcharge 'em for parking, and rent 'em time in the portable potties! And that someone might's well be me!"

Dipper rang up the sweatshirt with a _ka-ching_! that made Grunkle Stan’s eyes light up, and the tourist asked meekly, "Should our family hang around for this? We have teen girls."

"Yeah, dude!" Wendy said. "They'll be totally stoked, and you'll be, like, Dad of the Year!"

"I'll do it!" the tourist said. He grabbed his bagged sweatshirt and headed out the door yelling, "Hey, hon, guess what?"

Stan patted Wendy's shoulder. "You're learnin', girl! You're learnin! I'm so proud of you right now—but get to work! Soos ain't payin' you to stand around airin’ your tonsils! Go sell somebody something!"

However, since the other tourists had also left, Wendy had no one to sell to, except Stan, Mabel, and Dipper, so instead, she asked Stan, "Hey, the Tombstones are playing on Saturday, right?"

"Yeah, Sunday afternoon, too—two forty-five minute sets." Stan held both hands up, like Mabel protesting false innocence. "An' just like the out-of-town groups, they get a fixed percentage of the gross, based on the time they play, not on how many are in the group! And Robbie Valentino signed a contract already, so don't bug me about it!"

"Good for Robbie," Wendy said. She hopped up and sat on the counter, unintentionally giving Dipper a distracting view of her derriere. "Hey, old dude, I know what's been up. You got him a couple of gigs out and about recently, I hear. He finally got the van fixed, so now they can make a little money on weekends, if they get known enough."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm doin' my part," Stan grumbled. "Let 'em learn to play music people wanna hear, and from then on, it's up to them!"

"Where's it gonna be?" Mabel asked. "Is it gonna be way out in the same field as before? Are we gonna have it here at the Shack? Oh, my gosh! What bands are coming? Don't make another hot-air balloon! Hey, Grunkle Stan, if you'd like a Sev'ral Timez reunion, I think I can arrange it for ten per cent of their take!"

"Huh? What? Who's them?" Stan asked.

"Boy group," said Dipper, whose hearing was returning, tearing his gaze away from Wendy's shapely round butt. "Mabel stole them from their crooked manager and set them free two years ago. You don't want to know about it. Hi, Teek!"

T.K. had just come inside. He waved at Dipper with a grease-smeared hand, then said to Mabel, "I straightened out that front wheel and tightened the handlebars. Everything got knocked sort of crooked when the bike fell. What's going on?"

Mabel grabbed him by the shirt and yelled right in his face: "It's Woodstick 2014!"

Teek blinked behind his suddenly fogged-up round glasses. "Oh! And, uh, what is that?"

"Wait a minute and I'll explain it all!" Mabel pointed her accusing finger at Stan. "Sev'ral Timez reunion gig, yes or no? And it better be yes!"

Wendy said, "Might be a big draw, Stan. They were real popular three-four years ago. Big nostalgia thing now—they haven't had a song out since the summer of 2012."

"Might be a draw, you say?" Stan mused, stroking his chin and grinning. "Fine! OK, I'll schedule a nostalgia block Saturday afternoon, say three o'clock to six! We got some other has-beens I can shoehorn in there. They can have a forty-five minute set! Mabel! I'll need posters! And get that group in to sign a binding contract with nine pages of fine print! And you can have ten per cent of _their_  take, but  _they_ get a standard two per cent of the gross for that block of time, and that's flat!"

Mabel stepped up to him, glaring. She was still shorter than Stan, but she raised up on tiptoe, her hands on her hips, her chin out. "Three per cent!"

Stan crossed his arms and glared. "Two!"

Mabel leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "Three and a half!"

Stan leaned closer, his nose now six inches from hers. "I said two!"

Mabel stretched. Two inches, nose to nose. "Four!"

Stan lowered his head. Nose touching. "What are you, deaf?"

Mabel grabbed both his cheeks. "One and a half!"

"No!" Stan roared, jerking back. "Three per cent, and that's my final offer!"

Mabel did a fist-pump. "We'll take it! Come on, Teek—we gotta go to the Multibear's cave and round up my boys! To the woods!"

Stan scratched his head as the two teens thundered out, slamming the door behind them. "What . . . just happened?"

Wendy laughed, hopping off the counter. She patted Stan's shoulder. "Mabel just scammed you, dude!"

"She did?" Stan scowled for a moment, but then immediately broke into a wide grin. "First you, then her! I'm so proud right now! Atta girl, Mabel! Atta girl!"

* * *

 

Because the billboards that Stan had erected prominently mentioned the Mystery Shack as a sponsor of Woodstick and a must-see, tourist traffic hit an unusual and very unexpected high late that afternoon. At six, when the Shack closed—they were fifteen minutes late and had to shoo out half a dozen tourists—Wendy all but collapsed on the front porch. "Whoosh, man! Crazy time in there! My feet ache from workin' the floor!"

"Yeah, it was nuts," Dipper said, sitting next to her. "Soos is going to have to restock next week instead of at the end of the month!" He cleared his throat. "So, uh, Wendy, if we, you know, have time—we may not, don't know if Soos is going to close the shop on Saturday and Sunday afternoon, but he might—uh, if he does—I don't suppose you would want to hang out at Woodstick with me?"

"Yeah, I would, dude!" Wendy said. "If you don't mind hangin' with Nate and Lee and Robbie and Tambry, too!"

"Not at all," Dipper told her, grinning in relief. "Long as you're there, too."

"Oh, I'll get there somehow," Wendy said. "Dress up for it an' everything! Can't miss Woodstick, man! Not when it's in town. Last year it was way the heck over in Ashland, too far to go. Normally Gravity Falls gets it only about once every four or five years. Stan must've pulled some strings to lure it back here!"

"Yeah, he's good at that," Dipper said. "Oh, my gosh! Look at that!"

Mabel and Teek were herding five blond young men out of the woods. They all had long, tangled hair and beards down to their chests—and they wore rags of white shirts and faded gray jeans, and though at first Dipper thought they wore scuffed brown shoes, as they came closer he could tell they were barefoot—with seriously muddy feet.

"Oh, man!" Wendy said. "They look like they've been rode hard and put up wet!"

"Uh—what?" Dipper asked.

She laughed and shoved his shoulder. "Never seen many Westerns, have you, Dip?" She stood up. "Hey, look at you!" she said as the rag-tag group shuffled within earshot. "I recognize you guys! My dad's absolute favorite group! Sev'ral Timez! How's it hangin', boys?"

"Yo, girl, it hangs righteously good!" one of them called back. He might have been smiling. With the birds' nests and cobwebs in his beard, it was hard to tell for sure.

Another, his voice nearly identical to the first, said, "Right on, yo? Our most industrious and quite illustrous manager here, Mabel girl, done got us a gig, check it!"

"Gonna be a stone come-back, yo!" another shouted.

"Could you please stop saying 'yo' so much?" Dipper asked.

"Yo! No, yo!" they all sang, harmonizing.

"All right!" Mabel said, clapping her hands. "Listen up, talent! Form a line, guys!" She jumped on the porch. The five hairy members of Sev'ral Timez struck a sort of disco pose, a little spoiled because they looked like clones of a ragged Tom Hanks after he'd been on that island for five or six years with only a soccer ball for a friend.

Mabel paced back and forth on the porch. "We got just one day to get you in shape, barbered, dressed in respectable nineties-style clothes, and rehearsed!" She snapped her fingers. "Teek! You and Wendy and my Brobro go to Discount Threadz, stat, and buy what Dipper's gonna write down! Dipper! Write this down!"

Dipper took out his pocket notebook and a ballpoint. "Ready!"

Mabel snapped her fingers. "Jeans, pale lavender, slim fit, all size 32 waist, 32 inseam! Five pairs!"

"Pale lavender, 32W, 32L," Dipper muttered.

"Five shirts, white, neck size 15, sleeves 32 inches, trim fit! Five matching white sweaters! Five pairs of socks, baby blue, size 6-8! Five pairs of white loafer-style sneakers, size 8!"

"Girl, you know everything about us!" Leggy P. exclaimed.

"Yo, how you do that girl?" asked Greggy C.

"I read  _Keen Teen Scene Beat Magazine!"_ Mabel snapped. "I have all the back issues! You got all that down, Dip?"

Dipper looked up from the scribbling. "So far, yeah. Uh—how about underwear?"

"Underwear! Yeah!" Chubby Z. yelled. "Music to my ears and my derriere too, yo! Yo, we been going commando since—"

They leaned together and all harmonized as they sang, "Two thousand and thir-TEEN!"

Then they exchanged high fives, and the one who seemed to be the leader crossed his arms and with a cocky grin said, "We still got it, yeah!" Then he said, "Mabel, girl, I hate to be  _that guy_ , but a moose done ate my hat, yo. Could I please—"

Mabel giggled. "Of _course_  you can, Deep Chris! Dipper! OK, Dip, put down the underwear—boxers or briefs?"

The group sang out their replies:

"Briefs!"

"Briefs!"

"Briefs!"

"Boxers, yo!"

"Briefs!"

"Tighty whities?" Dipper asked.

"White!"

"Pink!"

"Black!"

"Plaid!"

"Surprise me, yo!"

"OK, OK," Mabel said, waving her hands for silence. "For Deep Chris here, add a white linen fedora, size seven, pink band or if you can't find one that has a pink one, get me any old white fedora and also some pink ribbon of whatever width the band that's already on it is! And for the other guys, we're gonna need, let's see, one white linen vest, pink stretchy gloves—cut the fingers off—a white tank top, get the good heavy-weight kind, not the cheap kind, a pink belt with a gold buckle, let me see, let me see, and a short white Eton jacket, satin if you can find one in that material—also pick up some extra-wide satin ribbon, pink, so I can make lapels—and, um, a white quilted ski jacket! And buy a pink zipper. I'll need the pull for the ski jacket! Did I forget anything guys?"

Deep Chris hummed, and again they harmonized to an improvised tune: "Mabel, you nailed it, you know us so good / We're gonna be lookin' sharp on stage like we should!"

Mabel rubbed her hands together. "Cool beans. Wendy, make sure to charge that all to the Shack!"

"Whoa," Wendy said. "Can I do that, girl?"

"You can do anything. You're the Assistant Manager!" Mabel said with complete assurance. She beckoned to the group. "Come on inside, guys—we gotta get you showered and shampooed, and then we're going to Yvonne's Salon to get your beards shaved and your hair styled!"

Sev'ral Timez briefly huddled, then lined up.

"Manicures too, yo?" asked Creggy G. in a coaxing tone.

"For you guys, anything you want!" Mabel said.

"Just like the old days!" Chubby Z yelled.

"Even better that that, Chubby Z!" Mabel said. "Inside now and hit the showers! I'm gonna raid Dipper's bathroom shelf—body wash and a gallon of Acces deodorant spray for everybody!"

"Yo, we're gonna smell like a person again! You seriously rock, girl!"

The five guys and Mabel trooped inside.

"Dude, I really hate the smell of that stuff," Wendy confided to Dipper.

"Yeah, that's why I still have a whole giant-sized can. I never use it anymore," Dipper said, tucking the pad back into his pocket.

In a semi-dazed kind of way, Teek looked at Dipper. "What's going on?" he asked in a plaintive voice.

"Oh, yeah," Wendy said. "Your folks moved to Gravity Falls after the last time Woodstick was here. It's a big music festival, dude! Cool indie bands from all over Oregon! Tons of fun!"

"Why is Mabel so worked up? What's Sev'ral Timez?"

"Some things you don't want to know about," Dipper told him with a shrug. "Some things you really just don't want to know about. Yo."

Wendy laughed at that. "Come on, dudes. Let's hit the discount clothing store, yo! Man, I wish I'd known about being able to charge things to the Shack before now!"

"Don't let the power go to your head, yo. You'll get in trouble," Dipper warned her, reaching for her hand.

"Me? No way, man!" Wendy said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Come on! We've got to help Mabel make those bums look like a group again, yo!"

"Yo!" Dipper said.

"What's a yo?" Teek asked forlornly.

"If you gotta ask," Dipper told him in a mock-serious voice, "You ain't never gonna know."

"Man," Wendy said as she jangled her car keys on the way to the parking lot, "a Sev’ral Timez reunion! My dad is totally gonna go freakin'  _nuts!_ "

 _Along with everybody else in Gravity Falls_ , Dipper thought. But as he got into the passenger seat beside Wendy and Teek got into the back seat alone, he didn't say that out loud.


	2. We Love Rock 'N Roll

* * *

 

**Chapter 2: "We Love Rock 'N Roll"**

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines:** _Wendy dropped us off at the shack a little after 9:00 PM. I asked her if Manly Dan would be mad because of her coming in late, and she laughed. "Not tonight, Big Dipper! I called an' told him about Sev'ral Timez comin' to town, and he's over in Circle Park, standing in line at the ticket RV, waiting for the sales to start."_

" _When is that?"_

" _Ten AM tomorrow!" she said. "That phone call I got in the store was him calling me back. He told me he's, like, seventy-five places back in line, waiting for sales to start! Stan's gonna make out like a bandit! But seriously, I ought to drop Teek off and then get back to Casa Corduroy to make sure my brothers aren't wrecking the joint. And I gotta get some food in them—guess I'll haul through Yumburger. You and Mabel OK for dinner?"_

" _We'll scare something up," I said. "Worst comes to worst, we can cook burgers in the snack bar!"_

_With Teek in the back seat, I didn't quite kiss Wendy goodnight, but I did squeeze her hand and we had a little bit of our patented Vulcan mind-meld or whatever:_

— _Hey, Dip, I'm gonna knock your eyes out with my outfit tomorrow evening!_

_Can't wait, Magic Girl! Wonder if I could pull off a V-neck this year!_

— _Go for it, dude! Love ya!_

_Love you, too._

_It was over in a flash. I had like eighty pounds of clothes and sewing stuff to haul in, but I pulled it all out of the trunk and piled it onto the grass—it was all in plastic bags, anyway—and then lugged them into the Shack a couple of bags at a time. Melody met me at the front door and came out and helped. "Mabel and Soos aren't back yet," she said._

" _Oh, they over at Yvonne's Salon?"_

" _Yes, but it closes at nine, so they should be back soon. Soos drove everyone over in the truck. I hope the singers don't fall out of the bed! They don't seem very . . . stable, somehow."_

" _Well, they started out as clones who were kept in cages, and they've been living with the Multibear for two years," I said. "You can't expect them to be as sane as you or me." Or even Deputy Durland for that matter, but I didn't say that. No use worrying her. "Uh—is Mabel charging the haircuts and manicures and stuff to the Shack?"_

" _To your Grunkle Stan," Melody said. "I think she lifted his credit card when she hugged him."_

_Oh. THAT was going to make her real popular with him. No, I'm not making a joke. It's exactly the kind of thing that Grunkle Stan really admires._

_Soos drove them all back at about 9:50. The clone guys came in looking—strange. Well, better, but still strange. Mabel had the stylists at Yvonne's Salon fix them up with their old looks—except I don't remember if Chubby Z. really had a goatee—I guess he did because Mabel would know, and she gave the orders for the grooming. But my point about their strangeness was that because their clothes were in such rags, Mabel had decked them out in Mystery Shack merch._

_They all wore identical green cargo shorts with the question mark on the butts, plus identical green tees with the question mark on the fronts, plus Mystery Shack flip-flops, which have a question mark embossed on the sole so that you leave question-mark footprints behind you. The effect of those clones in clone clothes was sort of like gazing into reflections in a hall of mirrors, and the sight gave me a mild flashback to that dance when I made all the copies of myself. Not a good memory._

_OK, and I should have totally seen this coming, but I didn't. Mabel bedded all five of them down for the night in the attic. My bedroom. Without even asking me. And it was like a girls' sleepover, but worse._

_In the end, I took my pup tent out into the yard and pitched it beside the totem pole. That wolf even came and gnawed on my ankle a little for old time's sake._

_That was still better than trying to sleep among chattering, yo-ing clones._

_Just like old times, man. Just like old times._

* * *

 

A little before seven the next morning, something seized Dipper's ankle and tried to drag him out of the tent. "Go 'way," he groaned. "You chewed on my leg enough last night!"

"In your dreams, dude!"

"Wendy!" Dipper forgot he was in the tent, sat up too quickly, knocked down the tent pole next to his head, and had to fight his way out of the floppy canvas. "Oh, gosh, I didn't wake up in time to get ready for—what's that I hear?"

"That music?" Wendy, already dressed out for their run, jerked her head upward. "Sounds like Sev'ral Timez is up in the attic, already rehearsing for tomorrow afternoon! What happened, they kick you out?"

"I kicked myself out." Dipper made a face. "I even hate to go up there and get my running shoes and clothes, but I guess I ought to." He yawned. "Hear from your dad?"

"Called him before I drove over. He's still in line for tickets. He told me he's not gonna come home again until maybe Sunday night—he's met some buddies and they're gonna be campin' out at the Woodstick site, dude! He's sure nuts about that group."

"I'd better go in and get dressed," Dipper said. "Oh, I meant to call you last night, but it was late—Soos is closing the Shack until Monday. But you might still have to work."

"Say what? Work where?"

"In the Mystery Bus!" When Wendy just stared at him, Dipper shrugged. "Grunkle Stan bought a used RV-style bus, gutted it, and then tricked part of it out with a few exhibits and stuffed another part of it with merch. He's parking it in the Woodstick lot—he picked out a prime spot in the shade, with water and electrical hookups—and Soos is going to run it. Teek's already volunteered to work the register in the portable gift shop, but Stan might call on us, too."

"Sounds like a good reason to avoid Stan!" Wendy said. "So, I don't have to report for work today, huh?"

"Well, except we may have to put up some signs directing visitors to the Mystery Bus," Dipper said. "But let's do our run first. Wish me luck—I'm going in."

"Good luck, yo!" Wendy said.

"Stop that!"

* * *

 

Dipper grabbed his socks, shorts, tee-shirt, and headband, but the upstairs bathroom was constantly occupied—the five members of Sev'ral Timez had already showered and didn't have to go all that much, and besides, the Multibear had taught them to, you know, go in the woods, but they constantly paraded in and out to check their new haircuts in the mirror.

Mabel wouldn't let them wear their stage clothes until performance, so they were still in the Shack tees and shorts. Dipper finally went down to the guest bathroom to dress out, then joined Wendy outside. They spent some time stretching out on the lawn, serenaded from the attic by a medley of Sev'ral Timez songs: "Yo, Girl, Go, Girl"; "You Mah Baby, So Let Me Rock You"; "You Got Me Ackin' So Cray-Cray"; "If We Gonna Be Apart, Just Gimme Back My Heart"; and about a dozen others, some brand-new, all mostly indistinguishable from each other. As perhaps befitted a clone singing group.

Finally, even Wendy seemed to have enough, even though they hadn't done all their stretches. "Ready to run?" she asked.

"Tell you what," Dipper said. "Let's just run and keep running out of the town and out of the valley until this whole thing blows over!"

"Not a chance, dude!" Wendy said. "Gotta hear my tunes! And Robbie said to tell you he wants us to hear Tombstone's first set. Got something special he says will knock us out."

"Yeah, I know there's no escape," Dipper said. "Uh—later this morning, would you take a look at me in my Woodstick outfit and tell me honestly what you think?"

"The V-neck you bought last night? I told you, Dip, it'll look fine on you. You've grown some and your shoulders and neck will let you pull it off now."

"Well—there's other parts to the outfit," Dipper said as they headed down the driveway. "I don't want to look too ridiculous."

"Oh, man, that's what Woodstick's all about!" Wendy said with a laugh.

* * *

 

Downtown was . . . crammed with tourists, musicians, and incredible traffic already. They saw a long line of people snaking around Circle Park—and an RV with TICKETS $100 stenciled on it in big red letters. "There's your dad!" Dipper said.

"Yeah, still waitin' for the ticket office to open. Dude, there must be five hundred customers lined up now! Guess we'll have to sneak inside."

"No, it's cool. I got us comps," Dipper said.

"Yeah? Sweet! But how much did Stan make you pay for them?"

"Not a dime," Dipper said. "Mabel stole them from the office safe. It's OK—she left at least a hundred in there. Just got enough for us, her and Teek, Candy and Grenda, and I think Pacifica, her boyfriend Adam, and maybe her two ponies. And a few more to spare. Stan will never miss them until it's too late."

"And then he'll be happy that Mabel was so enterprising, I bet!"

Because of the congestion in the streets, they didn't make their full run, but headed back toward the Shack. "Hey, look!" Dipper said as they ran up the driveway. "Soos already put up the signs!"

"We are luckin' out today all around, dude!" Wendy said, laughing.

To make up for cutting their route short through the overcrowded downtown, they ran for about another mile down their nature route, then doubled back. "What's that?" Dipper asked, tilting his head as they neared the Shack.

It was the sound of Sev'ral Timez harmonizing—but another, much deeper voice had been added, and they weren't singing one of their own songs. Dipper and Wendy heard part of the lyrics:

" . . . comin' through,

That girl is you! Ooh-ooh!"

"Whoa!" Wendy said. "That's, like that lame disco-girl song by the Icelandic group—what was it, BABBA? Why're they singing that? And who's that with them—oh, I see."

Sev'ral Timez stood on the lawn in front of the shack, clustered around the Multibear, and Mabel said, "One more time, from the top!"

"Wait!" the Multibear rumbled, beckoning with one of its six paws. "Dipper! Come and join us! We need a tenor!"

"Uh, no, thanks, guys," Dipper said, waving the invitation off.

"But it's your favorite song, Broseph!" Mabel yelled. "Come on, we'll put you right up on stage with the group and the bear, and—"

"Dude!" Wendy said, laughing. "I didn't know you liked BABBA!"

"Used to, used to," Dipper muttered. "Thanks, guys, but I'm not, uh, professional enough for you. Is the Multibear really going to, uh, appear with the group—?"

"Yeah, he is!" Mabel said enthusiastically. "This is gonna blow their minds, right? What an act! And he doesn't even want pay! Just some fish! So, I told him you'd go fishing and he can have whatever you catch, Brobro!"

Dipper blinked. "Great, that's . . . yeah. Uh. Well, I'm going somewhere else, now. Because, uh, I want to be surprised when I, you know, see the act."

Wendy took her duffel from the car and they went inside. "Let's shower upstairs," Dipper said.

She nudged him as they started up the stair. "Is that an offer, dude?"

Dipper grabbed her hand and thought to her:  _One day it will be! Seriously, though, I don't even want to be on the same floor as those guys. They have no hesitation about barging in, and they creep me out. Anyway, I thought while you showered, I'd guard the bathroom door._

_-From inside, right?_

_Don't think so!_

But they at least paused at the top of the steps for their first kiss of the day.

Then Dipper stood with his back against the closed door—the  _outside_  of the closed door—while Wendy showered and dressed, and then she came out in her usual attire of flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. She'd dropped her fur trapper's hat on Dipper's bed, and she still wore the headband. "Don't want to get my hair all crushed," she'd explained earlier.

"Thanks, dude," she said now. "Never noticed this door doesn't have a lock or a latch or anything."

"You would have if you'd shared the bathroom with Mabel for a summer," Dipper assured her.

"OK," Wendy said, "I'm good. Take your shower and I'll stand guard."

From his bedroom Dipper got his jeans, tee shirt, and regular sneakers and went in to shower. The bathroom smelled, very pleasantly, of wet girl. He took a quick shower, toweled off, and then dressed. Even from the landing outside the bathroom door he and Wendy could hear Sev'ral Timez harmonizing.

"I still kind of think we should have just kept running," he said.

"So—want to go fishing?" Wendy asked. "Bear's gotta be paid, man."

Dipper sighed. "Tell you what. I've got some money. Let's go to the fish market instead. I don't think it matters to the Multibear as long as it's fish."

"Don't lame out, dude!" Wendy said, but she was grinning.

With a rueful shrug, Dipper confessed, "I never had much luck fishing, but if you want, yeah, we'll drive out to the lake and rent a boat. That wouldn't be so bad. At least we'd be together and away from all this craziness."

"You're really a BABBA fan, huh?" Wendy asked, nudging him.

"Was when I was twelve," Dipper admitted. "Let's face it, they were a top-forty group, and their songs were catchy!"

"Didn't see the appeal myself," Wendy told him.

"Once that song saved my butt, though," Dipper said. "Kept me from doing something I knew I shouldn't."

"That weak disco-girl thing? How?"

He explained, "When the Manotaurs were trying to teach me how to be manlier, they sent me to kill the Multibear. Turned out they hated him because he went around singing BABBA tunes all the time."

"Prejudiced against his musical judgment, huh?" Wendy asked.

"Yeah. The Manotaurs didn't like anything but head-bangin'."

"Oh, heavy metal fans," Wendy said with a nod.

"No, not at all. They just like running hard and banging their heads against rocks, I mean. They told me the Multibear was a disgrace to fierceness and sent me to kill him, and believe it or not, I came close to doing it. But then he and I found out we both liked that song, so we kind of bonded over it."

Wendy looked impressed. "Huh. Well, Multibear's a good dude for a bear with eight heads. I'm glad we had him on our side during Weirdmageddon. Hey, Dipper, did I ever tell you that my dad once chloroformed the Multibear?"

"What?"

"It was no big deal," Wendy said. "Yeah, couple-three years before you guys showed up in Gravity Falls, I guess it was. See, Dad goes into the deep woods looking for timber to harvest, and sometimes bears are a nuisance, so he keeps a little bottle of chloroform in the truck. He could wrestle 'em, but if he's in a hurry, it's easier just to send them to sleep for an hour or two. Trouble was, he couldn't figure out which head of the Multibear to anesthetize. I think he got like three of them and then the talking one spoke up and told Dad that if he would just knock it off, he'd go back to his cave and leave him alone."

"Hearing a bear talk must have startled Manly Dan."

"Eh, nothing much startles him. I wouldn't have pegged the bear for a BABBA fan, though."

"Hey," Dipper said, "'Disco Girl' has a good beat and a catchy melody, and its theme is female empowerment, even if the lyrics are dumb!"

"Yeah, I guess we all love rock and roll, but we all got different tastes, right?" Wendy chuckled. "So, dude, it's totally OK with me if you like BABBA. Could be worse, man. You could've liked 'Straight Blanchin'.'"

"Don't even go there," he warned her.

In quest of fish and a little together time, they did drive to the lake, spent about three hours out in a rental boat fishing with very little to show for it, turned the boat in, and on the way home hit the seafood market for some salmon. Then it took them a good long time to get back to the Shack—traffic was that heavy, and they saw as they neared the town that in Circle Park the tickets were selling fast.

Still, the drive through the crowded streets was a miserably slow creep—mainly because Deputy Durland was on traffic detail, and he had a genius for creating gridlock where none existed. He could probably cause a traffic jam in the middle of the Sahara. It was even worse when real cars were around.

It took them thirty minutes to travel the two-odd miles to the Mystery Shack—and then it was hard to park, because Stan was using the lot as spillover Woodstick parking, and Soos was ferrying visitors to the concert site in the tram.

Mabel had moved the guys and the bear out back, past the pig pen—she didn't want to let the tourists get an advance peek, she said. Gratefully, Dipper took the salmon from the trunk, which had begun to acquire a distinctly maritime aroma, and turned it over to its grateful recipient.

The Multibear didn't even mind that in the hot weather the salmon had started to smell. In fact, he seemed to relish it even more that way.

"Guys!" Mabel said to Wendy and Dipper while the Multibear gobbled his salary, "hope you're all ready to rock out! The opening groups are gonna start performing in about an hour."

"Nate and Lee are gonna meet us outside the gate," Wendy said. "Wonder if they scored tickets."

"Meh, have another couple of comps," Mabel said, reaching inside her musical-note tie-dyed sweater and then handing over two orange cards. "There's lots more where they came from!"

"Mabel," Dipper said, "you are going to get in serious trouble."

To his surprise, Wendy tugged his trucker's hat over his eyes. Then she and Mabel said in unison, "That's what makes it fun, dork!"

_I’ve gone from Dr. Funtimes to dork. My life is just an up and down highway_ , Dipper thought. And if he'd been a serious musician instead of a weekend guitarist, right there he might have had the inspiration for his first big hit.

"Come on, Dip!" Wendy said. "Let's go suit up for Woodstick 2014!"

"YAYYY!" Mabel cheered.

Dipper smiled weakly. "Yay," he said, hoping the V-neck would work this time—and that the rest of his ensemble would make him look cool, rather than dorky.

But he rather feared it wouldn't.

 


	3. I Do It for You

* * *

 

**Chapter 3: "I Do It for You"**

Who knows, Dipper  _might_ have finally pulled off that v-neck . . . but Mabel pulled it off first.

Literally.

"Nuh-uh!" she barked, invading Dipper's room yet again. "No, no, no! Bad Brobro! Come here!" And she dragged the shirt up and off his back and tossed it into the corner.

"Mabel!" Dipper groaned. "I don't tell  _you_  how to dress!"

"Because nobody  _needs_  to tell me that!" she snapped. "I'm like a fashionista gangsta! Seriously, give it another two years, Dipper! OK, we want a  _black_ round-necked tee for you. And not those stupid cargo shorts, either! And lose the white socks and trainers, for crying out loud! Did you follow my suggestions and get some stuff for yourself while you were shopping for Sev'ral Timez?"

"Yes," Dipper said with resignation.

"Great! Let's get started on project Sis Eye for the Bro Guy!" She unbuckled his belt, over his protests.

Fifteen minutes later, having started from scratch—actually, having changed from his usual tighty-whitie briefs into his first-ever pair of boxer briefs (the only part of dressing that Mabel allowed him to do in private)—Dipper felt like a department-store mannequin.

"OK," Mabel said. "You're rockin' those black boxer briefs, Bro!"

"This is embarrassing!"

Mabel wiggled her fingers. "Let me work my magic and deck you out! The new black tee first, then—"

And, like Doctor Frankenstein in his lonely laboratory, she began, piece by piece, to construct her creature. It took just that one-quarter of an hour before a transformed Dipper stood before her. "He's alive!" Mabel shouted. "Mwah-hah-hah!"

"I still feel like a store dummy," Dipper mumbled.

"What do you mean— _store_?" Mabel asked. "Look at you!"

Reading top to bottom:

He wore a pair of light amber-tinted aviator shades. Well, "wore" as in "had hooked over his ears and tilted up on his forehead." No pine-tree cap. "Not today, Buster," Mabel had chided, tossing his beloved headgear onto the bed.

And then: the black, round-necked tee, not tight, not loose. Over it a red-black-and-white checked flannel shirt, very, very soft. "Wendy will think I'm copying her!" Dipper protested.

"No, she won't! Roll those cuffs up to your elbows! All the way! Roll 'em!"

"OK, OK."

Next came soft, prewashed khaki jeans, not quite loose enough to be called baggy. Again, Mabel insisted, "Roll the cuffs! No, no, too much—an inch and a half! There you go!"

She had him tuck the tee, but  _not_ the flannel, into the waistband of the jeans. "OK, turn around. Mm-hmm. Good!"

"The jeans are a little loose in the waist," Dipper complained.

No belt. Nope. Instead, Mabel dug into the office closet downstairs and came up with an ancient tie of Stan's that they never remembered him wearing at all. "What is that?" Dipper asked, staring at the pattern. "It looks like gold parameciums!"

"Paisley!" Mabel said firmly. "All the rage, like, in 1970!"

"I can't wear a tie with a tee!"

"Dummy! String it through the belt loops!"

Dipper got the idea and threaded the tie—silk, black, with the Paisley design in gold—around his waist. "Bow?" he asked.

"Wha-a-t? Let me!" Mabel tied a firm but casual knot. About four inches of the wide part of the tie dangled down.

"That's kind of . . . uh," Dipper said, looking down.

"You're  _advertising_ , Dipper! Don't blush! It clashes with the shirt!"

Then . . . Dipper sighed. "These _tiny_ socks?" he asked.

"The whole _point_  of wearing no-show socks is to make it look like you're _not_  wearing socks!" Mabel insisted. "OK, now—the white Vans!" She held up the crisp white loafer-style canvas shoes.

Dipper sat on the edge of his bed to pull them on. "I'm copying Wendy, I'm copying Sev'ral Timez . . .."

"Trust me, Dipper! There! Now come down to the guest bathroom and check yourself out in the mirror!"

Because her bathroom had a full-length mirror on the back of the door, of course. Dipper went with her and stood looking at himself. "Huh," he said. "Still just me."

"Strike a sexy pose!" Mabel ordered. "No, not like that! You look like you got a backache! Here, one foot forward. Forward! OK, other foot behind you—not like you're walking, dummy! Turn your toes—other way, other way—there. Now bend that knee. No, the other one! Left hand with the thumb hooked in your belt loop. Aim your right forefinger like a pistol. No, _bend_ your elbow! You're not really shooting her! Tilt your head. Chin up! Now—what do you look like?"

"An idiot."

"Yeah, but a _sexy_  idiot! Squat down. I'm gonna tousle that hair!"

"Come on, Mabel, I don't want my birthmark to show—"

"Pfft! Wendy's seen it, Broseph, and who else matters?"

"Nobody," he muttered.

"Anyhow, I'll tousle with care so it's still hidden—not quite a bedhead, but sort of windblown and casual. There! Now hold still!" She grabbed a spray bottle and spritzed his hair.

"Come on! Hair spray? Guys don't use hair spray!"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. Stand up straight. Now get this: When it gets hot, don't stand there and sweat! What do you do with the flannel shirt? Think!"

"Um . . . put it in Wendy's car?"

"No! What you do is take it off, tie the sleeves around your waist, and let the shirt hang behind you!"

"Like . . . a backwards apron."

"Makes girls wonder about those buns beneath it, get it?"

"Don't _want_ it."

"Work with me, Dipper! Come on—the jeans are just tight enough to show off your butt, and girls will be staring and wondering, believe me."

"What is it with girls and butts?" Dipper wailed.

"Same as with guys and boobs. You know, you want something soft and pliant you can sink your teeth into."

"Mabel!"

"Well, stop asking dumb questions, then!"

"OK, OK."

They stepped out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the dining room, and Mabel asked, "Now—if Wendy starts to groove to the music—"

Dipper spluttered out a laugh. "Groove?  _GROOVE_?"

Mabel punched his shoulder. "Come on! If she starts to bop and act like she's enjoying the beat, what do you do?"

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck. "Um. I say, 'Hey, babe, I'm hep to the jive. Let's you and me cut a rug, doll-face!'"

This time the punch to the shoulder was harder. "Dip-PER!"

"Ouch! OK, seriously, I don't say anything, Sis," Dipper said. He reached out and took her hand. "I take her hand like this, and—we start to dance."

They did a couple of mock steps, and Mabel kissed him on the cheek. "That's my smooth brother!" She put a hand on his cheek. Softly, she said, "Honestly, Dipper, just trust your feelings and go with what seems right. But, yeah, like the song says, when you can sit it out or dance, always go with  _dance_!" She patted his cheek. "You'll be great. Make me proud of you."

"You'd better get ready, too," Dipper said. "Wendy'll be back in a few minutes, and I guess we'll either drive over or else let Soos shuttle us, depending on how bad parking is."

"See you in a few!" And she dashed back to her room. Dipper, of course, was not allowed to help her don _her_ outfit. He went into the empty gift shop and stood at the window gazing out at the parking lot, already crowded with cars whose occupants had been shuttled over to the concert site.

He was looking for a certain forest-green Dodge Dart containing a certain redhead.

And feeling nervous about what she might say when she saw him in his new get-up.

* * *

 

When she did show up, what  _he_ said was, "Wow!"

It wasn't much of a comment, but it was all Dipper could come up with when Wendy walked into the Shack. She wore a crown of flowers. And her top—her top—wow. She had a tie-died scarf in red, yellow, blue, and purple tied around her bosom. And that was it! Bare midriff, cut-off, fringed jeans with strategic rips—though the cut-off legs were really short, and there wasn't all that much room for rips—and she had shed her boots for black gladiator sandals that wrapped around and crisscrossed and came up above her ankles. She showed a lot of leg. A lot of _shapely_ leg. Dipper had a hard time looking up from those legs.

"You're lookin' pretty fly yourself, dude," Wendy said with a wide grin. "OK, here's the deal: We're hangin' with my friends, right? If we know where Dad is and that he's not looking our way, you and I can get cozy. But if he's close by, or if we can't see him and don't know where he is, you keep Tambry or Robbie or somebody in between you and me. And it's cool to chat up Pacifica or whoever in that situation."

Dipper sighed. "I thought Manly Dan had kind of forgotten about you and me getting, you know, too close."

"Yeah, but he's like a small-town railroad—just one track to his mind, dude! So, OK, if I joke around and put my arm over Nate's or Lee's shoulders, you're cool with that, right? 'Cause it'll be for Dad's benefit."

"Yeah, I guess," Dipper said. "Wendy, you look totally gorgeous! Uh—I didn't go with the v-neck."

"I see you didn't, but that outfit is seriously hot, dude. I swear, you look at least sixteen!"

"Mabel kind of dressed me."

"Mabel did a good job." They kissed, and then broke apart with a sigh. Wendy asked, "Where's she?"

"Still getting dressed. She sent the guys over to the site already. Abuelita's baby-sitting Little Soos, and Melody's supposed to keep Sev'ral Timez out of trouble until Mabel gets there to take over."

"Speak of the devil," Wendy said, grinning. "'Sup, Mabes! You look sexy!"

"You, too!" Mabel said, sweeping into the gift shop. She was wearing a white, and—in Dipper's opinion—too-short floral-print dress with spaghetti straps, ballet flats, and—a white fedora, like the one Deep Chris wore, but with a rainbow ribbon band and a pink rosebud tucked in it. "What do you think of Dip?"

"Lookin' sharp," Wendy said.

Mabel took a couple of steps back. "Let me see you as a couple."

Wendy linked her arm through Dipper's. Side by side, they looked—well, not that shabby. True, Dipper was still a few inches shorter than Wendy, but she tilted her head and then pulled her arm free and draped it over his shoulder. "Mm, I'm totally stealing that flannel shirt from you," she said. "It's so soft!"

"You can have it when this thing's over," Dipper told her.

"I like the way you made your top, Wendy. You have a bra on under that?" Mabel asked.

"Mabel!" Dipper yipped.

Wendy laughed. "Girl, that's for me to know—and him to find out!"

"WENDY!"

* * *

 

Soos drove the empty tram in and reported that parking near Woodstick was nonexistent. "It's like wall-to-wall cars, dawgs!" he said. "I think this year's even bigger than last time by maybe double! Or twice as many, even!" But he let them board the tram before anyone else, and they crowded onto the seat right behind him.

By then the Shack parking lot was, literally, full—Wendy had parked in the Employees Only zone, otherwise known as the back yard—and a throng of chattering, variously-dressed concert-goers filled up the rest of the tram, thrilled to find the ride was free. "Compliments of the Mystery Shack, dawgs!" Soos announced. "Only do me a solid and check out the rolling Mystery Shack, under the management of the original Mr. Mystery himself, Doctor of Mysteriousness, Stan Pines!"

Then Soos got behind the wheel and floored the accelerator. Even so, the tram was overloaded, and it groaned along at maybe fifteen miles an hour. The concert site was an empty, fenced-in field a little closer to town than the previous Woodstick had been, but it still took them half an hour to get there.

Fortunately, Deputy Durland was elsewhere, and a woman traffic cop had things moving with fair efficiency. Soos stopped the tram near the entrance gate, and everyone piled out. "There's the Mystery Bus!" Wendy told Dipper. "Check it out!"

However, Dipper and Mabel had already seen it—a stretched RV, painted yellow, with MYSTERY SHACK MOBILE painted on the side in black. A sign taped up next to the front door said, "ADMISSION $5.00," and a line of people stood waiting to get in. At the rear door, more tourists were coming out, most of them gripping bags of merch.

"We can come here later if we want to get in a shift," Dipper said. "I'm sure Grunkle Stan will put us to work!"

"No way, dude! Today we party!"

The three of them joined the crowd heading for the gate, and halfway there, Dipper heard "Wen-dy! Wen-dy Wen-dy!"

"You guys!" Wendy said as she, Mabel, and Dipper peeled off from the mass of shuffling attendees and made their way over to the boys. Nate, Lee, and Thompson stood over near a tall chain-link fence, not dressed especially differently for the occasion—Thompson didn't seem to have smuggled in any contraband food, even. "Did you guys score tickets already?" Wendy asked.

Nate and Lee shook their heads. "I got one from a scalper," Thompson said. He looked dumpier than ever, and his newly-grown mustache didn't help matters much. "Three hundred dollars, but it was totally worth it!"

"Me and Nate are outa luck," Lee said. "They're sold out and we can't afford scalpers' prices. So, we're gonna sneak in the usual way."

"You look great, Wendy!" Nate added.

"Here you go, boys!" Mabel said, handing over the comp tickets. "On the house. That's the Mabel difference!"

"Whoa!" Nate yelled. "Thanks, girl!"

"Aw," Thompson said.

"Come on!" Mabel told him. "Look back there—scalpers are still workin' the crowd. Take a comp and sell your ticket at a profit!"

"You," Dipper told her, "are getting Grunklier every day."

"Doctor Funtimes!" Lee said. "Great to see you, man!"

They high-fived. "Good to see you too," he said.

"Dude, you're growin' up on us," Lee told him. "Looking good, Dipper."

"Thanks, man." Dipper felt a little odd, as he had every time he'd met Lee since Wendy had told him about how Lee's mom had lost an unborn baby—Lee's little brother—back when Lee had been just a little kid. Now he realized that when they'd hung out back in the early days in Gravity Falls, Lee had latched onto him as the brother he'd wanted but had never known.

"Where's your girls?" Wendy asked them.

Thompson said, "Aww. . ."

"Don't be discouraged!" Mabel chirped. "There are plenty of romantic opportunities at Woodstick! Music is the language of love! Thompson, I'll keep my eye out and send some lucky girl your way. Meanwhile, go sell that ticket! Go, go, go! And make a profit!"

"Yes, ma'am," Thompson said, hurrying away.

"Cindy's coming later," Nate said, going back to Wendy's question. "We kinda thought we'd hook up and hang out."

"Yeah," Lee added. "And I'm sort of gonna meet up with Pamela Puckett this afternoon."

"Wham-Bam Pam!" Nate crowed. "You the man for a one-night stand!"

"Shut up!" Lee said, shoving him.

"That's what your mom told me!" Nate pushed him back.

"Look, guys," Wendy said, "Me and Dipper are gonna hang out on the hillside, over there near the trees. Meet us there later, OK?"

"You got it!" Lee said.

"That's what your mom said!"

"Shut up, man!"

Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel left them scuffling in their best-buddy and absolutely in no way homoerotic fashion and got through the gate on their comps. They were awarded green bracelets—"These'll get you back in all weekend don't cut them off before then have a good time kids next"—and then Mabel left to go back to the dressing-tents area behind the stage to find Sev'ral Times and free Melody up to run the Mystery Bus.

Wendy and Dipper skirted the crowd, angling around toward stage right. Stan had chosen well—the field was nearly a natural amphitheater, with the stage centered on a level place and facing a rising ground that wound up in a half-circle of low, tree-studded hills. A high chain-link fence ringed the whole area.

"I remember this place," Wendy said. "When I was a little kid, this was gonna be like some kind of factory site, concrete and paving, I think. Only the company went bust, I guess, so the factory never got built, just the fence. It's about, what, ten acres? Stan must've had it mowed and cleaned up."

"Dipper!"

Pacifica Northwest, looking cool in a loose white top and white jeans, came running over and hugged him. "I haven't seen you in the longest time! Hi, Wendy."

"Hiya, Paz."

"Well," Dipper said, "you and your family were off in France—how was Paris?"

" _Tres jolie_!" Pacifica said, giggling. "You're looking—good. I mean, seriously, you cleaned up nice!"

"Thanks," Dipper said, squirming a little. "You, uh, too. Where's, uh, where's Adam?"

"Oh, he's around somewhere," Pacifica said with a shrug. "He's just turned sixteen! He's getting a fabulous car soon!"

"That's great," Dipper said. "It's, yeah . . . great. I guess it'll be another two years for me. Before I can, you know, get a car. And all."

"We're heading over there," Wendy said, pointing. "Want to come with us?"

Pacifica shook her head. "Oh, no, no, my dad got us one of the pavilion tables down near the stage. Adam's buying us some snacks now. Well . . . have a good time, you two!" She kissed Dipper on the cheek, waved goodbye, and melted into the crowd.

"That was uncomfortable," Dipper said.

"Come on, Dip," Wendy said, laughing and pulling him along by the arm. "She's got a boyfriend now! Soon to have a car!"

"Yeah, I'm outclassed," Dipper muttered. He took her hand. "I'm glad you're not jealous!"

"Hey, I'm a modern, mature woman," Wendy told him. "And I didn't even bring my axe, 'cause I couldn't figure a way to strap on the scabbard with this top. But, you know—I could still have pulled out her hair."

"That's my Lumberjack Girl!"

"Come on, man. Let's find a good place to sit on the grass!"

So far, Dipper thought, it was looking like a fun day.

So far . . . .

 


	4. That Funky Music

* * *

 

**Chapter 4: "That Funky Music"**

Let's tell the truth: Stanley Pines had very little sense of rhythm, was somewhat tone-deaf, and thought most music performed after 1975 was basically noise. However, he had a great instinct for programming the musicians at Woodstick 2014.

The Friday performances launched at noon with a group called Fuzz Boots, who came on with a hard-rocking version of "Smoke Gets in My Water," a solid classic oldie with a killer bass riff that got the audience on its feet. They segued right into "Chains on My Heart," one of their originals, that let their lead guitarist go crazy with a showy solo bit, and then they blazed through four more songs that got everyone dancing, even Manly Dan, whom Wendy and Dipper spotted close to the stage.

Of course, his dancing looked a whole lot like a man trying to dodge a falling tree, and people gave him such a wide berth that he was dancing alone, but everyone seemed to enjoy the show he put on. Anyway, they clapped along in rhythm as he lurch-boogied.

"Man," Wendy said over the music and the crowd sounds, "I'm glad we parked ourselves up here. I mean, _he's_ easy to pick out at this distance, but I don't think he'll spot us!"

Nate and Lee brought their girls up and joined Dipper and Wendy—Lee thoughtfully brought a big Navajo-patterned blanket they spread out, so they didn't have to sit on the prickly grass any longer—and a sad looking Thompson eventually trudged over, too.

Pam, Lee's girl, wasn't as trashy as Nate's teasing had led Dipper to expect. In fact, she was a perfectly nice brown-haired seventeen-year-old with close-cropped hair, nostril studs, and some tattoos on her arms that looked real. But she seemed friendly and even a little shy, saying "Hi" to Dipper with a smile that begged,  _Please like me just as I am._

Nate's girlfriend Cindy—Dipper had met her before twice—was dark, with black hair and big brown eyes and had a perpetual habit of being bored. "I thought they'd have some real music," she muttered. "This ground is hard. Nate, I want to sit on your lap."

When Fuzz Boots went out with their biggest hit, "Iron Dude," they got everyone on their feet and jumping in the air, except for Cindy. "That was OK," she said, the Gravity Falls equivalent of a Grammy. Following Fuzz Boots was Gramma's Panties, an all-girl group of six, all of them tattooed, pierced, and decked out in leather. They started playing while the audience was still cheering, and Dipper couldn't even hear the first chords of their song. Wendy yelled in his ear, "'Fumblelina!' Punk metal surf, dude!"

When he could hear the music again, at first Dipper thought there must be an electrical short in the amplifiers, but then the tune settled in to a bass-heavy  _DUN-DA-DUNNN_ drive, the lead guitarist leaned forward and started to scream the lyrics into the microphone—Dipper couldn't make out a word—and again the crowd started spontaneously dancing. Pam dragged Lee to a relatively clear spot and they started to, well, jump around rhythmically. Wendy yelled, "Yeah, Lee! Get your boog on, man!"

But . . . she made no sign that she wanted to dance, and Dipper sighed in a relieved way. It wasn't exactly his kind of song.

Band followed band. At one point, Wendy nudged Dipper. "Dad and three guys are leavin'," she told him. "It's six o'clock. They're goin' to the Skull Fracture for beer and burgers, bet you anything!" She waited until Manly Dan had climbed into some guy's Humvee—it sank visibly when he got aboard—and then she hugged Dipper. "We're in the clear until they get back," she said.

And so, though right then the band was Pocket Full of Bees and their tunes had no recognizable beat or melody, Dipper and Wendy got up and sort of danced, to Nate's and Lee's cheers and Cindy's "Be OK if he was, like, taller."

* * *

 

Mabel made sure that the guys of Sev'ral Timez were in their trailer—Stan had lent them one—and fed. "OK," she said, wiping her sweaty face with a towel. "We've rehearsed until you're perfect. I want you guys to get lots of rest now. You lead off tomorrow at three o'clock! Any problems?"

Deep Chris said, "Yo, girl, you think we're competition for this metal stuff? Like, compared to them, we're mellow!"

"Music is about everything!" Mabel reminded them. "Tomorrow the crowd's gonna be all wound up for you guys! Don't try to imitate anybody else. Be true to your sound, and you got 'em!"

Greggy C. raised his hand. "Mabel, girl, that's chill, but you know, we _are_ imitating BABBA when we do the tune with the Multibear."

"You're not _imitating_!" Mabel said. This was the eleventh time so far that she'd explained. "That number is a  _tribute_  to BABBA. Don't worry about it. By the time Multibear comes on stage, you'll have all the girls in the audience on your side. And all the girls love BABBA! Well, all the girls and my brother. OK, the caterer is coming with your pizza and sodas. It's paid for, and I gave Deep Chris five bucks. What do you do with it, Deep Chris?"

"I do not eat it!" Deep Chris said proudly, and the other members of Sev'ral Timez high-fived him.

"Yes, good," Mabel said. "But who do you give it to? Think!"

"Um—yo, got it, Santa Claus!"

"Good answer!" Leggy P. said encouragingly.

"Yeah," Mabel said. "But remember, Santa will be in disguise. Whoever brings the pizza is Santa, and you give Santa the five dollars and say—?"

"Yo, dude, don't eat this!" Deep Chris responded brightly.

"Or maybe 'This is a tip, dude,' Mabel suggested. When Deep Chris just stared at her with blue eyes like question marks, she sighed. "Whatever. Just tip the delivery person. OK, wander around back here and talk to the other musicians if you want to, but don't go onstage. You can visit the other acts, that's fine. But when you get sleepy, you don't head for the mountains. Where do you sleep?"

The guys huddled, and then Deep Chris said, "We come back here and sleep on the bunks."

"Very good!" Mabel said, tossing him a bit of jerky treat, which he snapped right out of the air. "I got you guys two cell phones. I've saved my number in both. Deep Chris and Chubby Z. both know how to dial it, so if there's any trouble—what do we do?"

"Hide in the back of the cave!" Creggy G. exclaimed.

"No, no," Deep Chris said. "We dial your number, girl, and we—"

They leaned together and harmonized: "Call on you, girl for true, oh girl, we always call on you!"

"You've still got it," Mabel said. "Have fun, and I will see you tomorrow at nine and I will bring your breakfasts."

She stepped out of the RV, rolling her eyes. She still  _liked_ Sev'ral Timez, and she still now and then listened to their music, and they were fun to hang out with for about five minutes at a stretch—but she needed to get away from them. She saw some musicians she recognized—Wretched Stretch's drummer, Thuds, chatting up the keyboardist for Five Slices of Cold Mouse Pizza, who probably was a girl, the pink-scarved Duke the Dude from Scarves Indoors, whose black hair had thinned some since 2012, a few others. One of them, who played guitar for a new band called White Gorilla in a Rainbow Wig, stopped her and asked about Sev'ral Timez. "They really got back together?"

"Well, yeah," Mabel said. "They never actually broke up. They just went on a long retreat with, uh, their guru."

"Oh. Beatles vibe, then."

"Um—sure," Mabel said. "Whatever."

As she made her way through the impromptu trailer park where the groups had set up their buses and vans, she saw a familiar one. Love God was back. And that reminded her—

"Man, I forgot Thompson! I gotta go out and work the crowd and find some lonely lady who deserves him. That bar should be low enough!"

And, cheerfully, she made her way past security and into the audience, now mostly chowing down on sandwiches and snacks. Nobody was on stage just then—a fifteen-minute break—except for Loopy Groupie, a rangy DJ from out of town, who was reading announcements: "OK, uh, whoever left a big dog in your Datsun, not cool, dude, you can claim your pet at the Gravity Falls pound on Monday morning. That's Monday at nine AM, the pound near the dog park. Remember, though dogs are not allowed in the dog park. And, OK, take this with a grain of salt if you want to, but there's a warning about the brown Smile Dip. Do not eat the brown Smile Dip . . . ."

Mabel stopped to say hi to a few people, including Pacifica and Adam, who reminded her a bit uncomfortably of a slightly more buff and bespectacled Dipper, and to a few girls she didn't know, but all of them were either hooked up or not interested in meeting a guy.

And then she saw a stocky, but not unattractive, girl on the fringe of the crowd, looking around furtively as she moved toward the fence. Mabel wondered  _Is she going to climb OVER the fence? Did she sneak in and now is sneaking out?_  However, the girl wore a green plastic bracelet, so that seemed—Oh. Oh ho! A fried chicken leg lay in the grass there, obviously dropped by some attendee and not disposed of.

The girl sat down, and a moment later she began to eat the chicken leg.

"Match _made_ ," Mabel murmured with a smile. She went over and plopped herself down next to the girl, who looked about fifteen or sixteen. "Hi!" she said to the girl. "I'm Mabel. Who are you?"

"Um. Hi," the girl said, sounding flustered. "I'm Vanilla? Well, my real name is Vivian, but I hate it. Hi, Mabel."

"Are you from around here?" Mabel asked.

"Um, Mossy Run," Vanilla said. "But when I heard about Woodstick, you know—and Sev'ral Timez! I saw a poster today that said they'll be here! I used to love them! I came to the last concert they gave. It was here, you know."

"I know," Mabel said. "Vanilla, are you here all on your own?"

"Well, yeah," the girl said. "My parents are divorced, and I'm spending the summer with my dad, you know, and I got my license, and he doesn't care what I do, and—"

"I see," Mabel said, cutting her off and letting her take another bite from the drumstick. "Vanilla, I always say you enjoy music better if you're with friends. What are you, sixteen?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Great. I'm from Gravity Falls—well, practically—and I have a bunch of friends your age who are great people. You'd love to hang out with them. Finish that and then let's go meet them."

"I—I don't know—"

"Vanilla, I know what you're thinking, but my friends are safe. They'll enjoy meeting you, and if you think you're not going to get along or anything, just come back down here."

"My dad says to be careful who I trust."

"And your dad is doing his job as a parent. Props to him! Hmm. Vanilla, if I had someone vouch for me, would that be OK?"

"Uh—who? I don't really know anybody here—"

"How about Sev'ral Timez?" Mabel asked. "I happen to be their new manager."

"Oh, wow!"

* * *

 

The music had resumed—not quite so loud now, with a run of  _a capella_  performers—when Mabel and a pleasantly dazed Vanilla made their way up the hill. Mabel spotted Wendy and Dipper and then saw the others. "Hi, gang!" she said, coming up. "Guys, this is Vanilla Spottlebeam from Mossy Run, and she's here all alone. Is it cool if she hangs with you?"

"Sure, whatever," Wendy said, smiling.

"Great!" Mabel said. "OK, Vanilla, this is Thompson. He's managing the local movie theater, and he's an expert on snacks. He'll introduce you around. Thompson, Vanilla. I think you guys have a lot in common."

"Mabes," Wendy said, "Me and Dip are about to go grab some dinner. You want to come with us?"

"Sure!" Mabel said. "I'm hungry. Wrangling musicians is a tougher job than I thought it was."

"OK," Wendy said, getting up. "Come on and we'll see if we can catch the tram. It stops in town in front of the History Museum."

"If not," Dipper said, "it's just a fifteen-minute walk from here."

"Not walk," Wendy groaned. "These sandals were a major mistake. My feet are hurting!"

"We'll take the tram," Mabel said. "Or catch a ride."

* * *

 

They did catch the tram and had tacos, rice, and beans at Hermanos Brothers—though Abuelita's cooking had spoiled them for other Mexican food, especially Hermanos Brothers, where the chef was Scandinavian. Then Mabel planned to head back to the festival, also on the tram, but Wendy and Dipper decided to give it a pass. "Not many groups that I like on this evening," Wendy said. "Tomorrow's gonna be crazy rockin', though!"

"Can't wait to see what you wear," Mabel told her.

"Wait, you're wearing a different outfit?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, dude! 'Cause it ain't cool to wear the same threads too long!"

Mabel said, "Take a hint, Dipper!"

"I _don't_ wear the same clothes!" Dipper insisted. "Well, I did, but stopped when I turned thirteen. It's just that all my outfits are the same! It saves time!"

"Dude, wear whatever you want," Wendy said.

"Nope!" Mabel said firmly. "I'll fix him up for you, Wendy."

They boarded the tram, not as crowded now in the afternoon with the festival in full gear, and rode first to Woodstick, then to the Shack. Soos came in for dinner—"Schedule for the night's one tram an hour," he told them—and Abuelita cooked for him, herself, and Little Soos.

Meanwhile, Dipper and Wendy went upstairs. "Mind if I flop on your bed for a little bit?" Wendy asked. "Been a long day already!"

Dipper laughed and sat on the foot of the bed as she lay down, sighing. "Funny. You can go all day chopping trees."

"Yeah, well, 'cause that's _normal_ , you know? Woodstick's, like, a once-in-a-long-while thing. Wears me down faster, for some reason. I had a good time. You?"

"Hey," Dipper said, "I always do when you're around."

Wendy yawned. "That's sweet. I ought to drag my butt out to the car and go check on my brothers, but just lying down here is so nice."

Dipper took her slim ankle in his hand.  _It IS nice. You look so fantastic, Wendy!_

— _Thanks, Dip. Your outfit's great. What happened to your shades?_

Dipper reached up to his head.  _Huh! Lost them somewhere! Doesn't matter, Mabel picked them up at the second-hand shop and they were so scratched I couldn't even look through them._

— _Wish I could stay here tonight. One day, Dip—what are you doing?_

"What's wrong?" he asked out loud. "Don't you think you'll like it?"

— _Well—it's not like I'd hate it, but—_

"Just relax."

She giggled. "Dipper!"

"Trust me," he whispered.

Really, he had to remove only two articles of her clothing. Then he began to stroke her skin, very gently.

_How's that?_

— _Nice. It's kinda nice._

_It gets nicer._

Gazing at her face, he began to move faster, with more pressure and deeper strokes. She sighed and then gasped.

_-Oh, my God, Dip! That's incredible! Harder! I'd like it rougher!_

_Tell me if I hurt you._

She arched her back and breathed faster, beginning to moan a little. Dipper pressed in with lots of force, then began to knead.

— _There! Oh, yeah! Right there. Yeah, go, Dipper, that's the spot, that's it! Oh, that's so great! Yeah! That feels fantastic! How'd you learn that?_

_Well, I practiced on Mom and Mabel._

When it ended, after about ten minutes, Wendy said, "Dude! That was freakin'  _incredible!"_

"It was your first time," Dipper said. "I could tell. From now on, whenever you want it—well, you always know where to find me!"

"Man," Wendy said, wriggling her toes with a long, happy sigh. "I never realized how wonderful a foot massage could feel!"

 


	5. Giving Love a Bad Name

* * *

**Chapter 5: "Giving Love a Bad Name"**  

 **From the Journals of Dipper Pines:** _It's nearly eleven o'clock, Friday night, and I've finally got some alone time to catch up on this. OK, GREAT DAY with Wendy! We didn't do all that much—hung out, listened to a lot of music at Woodstick, danced a little, and then we came back to the Shack._  

 _And she was all tired, so I massaged her feet. She really seemed touched by that. I know she liked it, and I always enjoy touching her, even if it's only to feel her curl her toes around my fingers!_  

 _But I almost wish I hadn't done it._  

_Because just after Wendy went downstairs on her way out to her car and to her house, at maybe, I don't know, 9:30? Anyway, around that time, Mabel bopped in, without knocking, as usual. "Scored some major romance points with Wendy, huh?" she asked me, giving me her big old smile. You know, sometimes I miss the goofy look her braces used to give her._

_Since I didn't really want to comment on that, I changed the subject. "Sev'ral Timez all taken care of?" I asked._

_Mabel stretched her hands over her head. "Yeah, I put them to bed in their trailer. They should be OK. I hope they can remember how to flush. They've been living in that cave a long time." She hopped up on her old bed and kicked off her black flats, then pulled off her white socks. "DIP-per," she chirped, wriggling her toes. "I need a foot rub, too!"_

" _Wendy told you?" I asked._  

 _Mabel giggled. "'Course she did, silly! We tell each other everything, all the time! I'm surprised you got up the nerve to touch her tootsies, you Brohemian rhapsody, you!"_  

" _Well—we got sort of mellowed out, hanging with Wendy's friends and hearing the bands and all. And the sandals made her feet sore, and, well, it just felt right, you know?"_  

" _Less talking and more massaging!" Mabel said, kicking her feet at me._  

" _OK, but at least go to the bathroom and wash your feet first!" I told her._  

" _Bet you didn't make Wendy do that!"_  

" _She doesn't sweat as much as you do."_  

" _True that," Mabel said. "Be right back. You have any oil?"_

" _Nope. It was just skin on skin with Wendy. She didn't complain."_

" _No worries!" I heard her go down the stairs, heard water running, and a couple of minutes later she breezed back in, barefoot and holding a tube of hand lotion. "This'll do!" She flung herself on her old bed—Abuelita keeps a patchwork quilt on it, no sheets or pillow, though—and wriggled her toes again. "Get busy, Dip! These pods ain't gonna massage themselves!"_

_So, I went and sat and held her feet in my lap, to keep the lotion off the quilt, and started doing my thing. The lotion smelled like cinnamon. "Feels good!" Mabel said._

_I was pressing my thumbs into the ball of her right foot. That feels very good—or so I'm told. I wouldn't know myself. "Maybe when I finish, you can do mine."_

" _Pfffbbt! Dream on!" I pulled her toes one by one, and she asked, "Does Wendy have nice feet?"_

" _Yeah, she does!" I said. "Kind of thin, well-shaped, with beautiful long toes. Yours are stubby and pudgy."_

" _They are not! They're the perfect toe shape and size! And they're just like yours. We have the Pines toes! What's so great about long toes, anyway?"_

 " _Well, you can hold hands with your feet."_

  _She looked thoughtful. "Huh. That WOULD be kinda cool!"_

  _After about ten minutes I went to the upstairs bathroom for a towel to remove the last traces of lotion from Mabel's skin, and when I got back, she was asleep with her feet dangling over the edge of the bed. I tossed the towel in her face and said, "Dry your tootsies and go to your own room!"_

 " _Oh, man!" Mabel complained. "I was having such a nice dream, too!" But she wiped off both her feet and said, "Seriously, you're good at this, Dipper. You should turn pro. I can even see the sign on your shop door: Dipper Pines, Pedotherapist! 'Put your feet in my hands!'"_

 " _No, thanks," I said. "I'm already mixed up about what I want to do professionally. Feet are real low on the totem pole."_

 " _As they should be," Mabel agreed. "What's the plan for tomorrow, Brobro?"_

 " _Wendy's coming over at nine—"_

 " _I KNEW you'd have a schedule timed to the minute! You and Mom! What IS it with you, Dip? Learn to live in the moment!"_

 " _That was Wendy's suggestion," I told her._

" _Bad sign, Bro. You're rubbing off on her. Maybe it was because you didn't use any oil for the massage."_

" _Whatever! Anyway, we're not going to run tomorrow. The gates open at ten, so we're gonna catch the tram at nine-thirty or about then. Want me to wake you up at eight?"_

" _Mm, no. Eight-thirty. I'll need to shower and grab breakfast, but that's all. My guys take the stage at three this afternoon, but I'll have to check in with them and make sure the Multibear shows up on time."_

" _He will. He's very reliable."_

" _Yeah, I like him. He's so soft and cuddly!" She yawned. "Getting late. Guess I'd better turn in. Oh, hey, you be up and showered already by eight-thirty, 'cause I gotta dress you."_

" _No, you don't."_

" _Yes, I do. Don't argue, you know you're just gonna lose."_

_When she's right, she's right. So—I wonder what I'll look like tomorrow._

* * *

 

"Dude!" Wendy said the next morning. "Cool! We totally match!"

"Yeah," Mabel said. "That's on me. You told me what you were thinking to wear, so I had that to go by."

Dipper wore a red bandanna rolled and tied around his head like a sweatband. It matched Wendy's. He had on a white tee shirt and over it a short black denim vest. Just like Wendy. And they both wore stressed jeans with laddered rips in the legs. And they both wore boots—Wendy's normal lumberjack boots, and Dipper a pair of brown chukka boots that were very nearly the right size for him, though he thought glumly  _If these things rub my heels, I'm gonna get blisters._  That was one problem with Mabel's shopping at second-hand stores: things like shoes and boots tended to be stretched out more than the advertised size indicated.

When he complained, though, Mabel compensated by having him wear a pair of the shoe-liner socks beneath his boot socks, and that helped, though it made for hot feet. Abuelita again was staying home to babysit Little Soos, Melody was running the mobile Mystery Bus, Teek would be cashier, and Soos was the tram driver and genial guide to Gravity Falls for all the out-of-town tourists.

 It was a medium-warm morning, bright and clear, and Soos seemed at ease speaking over the tram's PA. Of course, he had a couple of years as Mr. Mystery under his size 44 belt, and he'd developed a little polish that charmed the tourists nearly as much as Stan's in-your-face bullying always seemed to do.

 He dropped the three of them at the Woodstick site about a quarter of an hour before opening, and Mabel, who was lugging a picnic basket, said, "Come with me. I'll get you through the VIP entrance."

 She led Dipper and Wendy to a chain-link gate manned by two bouncer-type guys, big and burly, and they welcomed her warmly, opened the gate, and wished her a good morning. "Mabes, you make friends fast," Wendy said.

 "Yeah, I do! Don't tell Teek, though. He might get j-e-a-l-o- You guys! Hi! I brought breakfast!"

 "Girl, we knew you wouldn't forget, yo!" Deep Chris said. The Sev'ral Timez singers were still in their civilian outfits of tee shirts, shorts, and flip-flops, and they had been chatting with some other early risers at a small picnic area just past the van parking lot.

 Deep Chris and the other members of the group huddled around one of the redwood picnic tables and Mabel doled out breakfast burritos. By the time she'd served the last guy, the first one was asking for seconds, but that was cool—she'd brought enough for seconds, thirds, and fourths. When the chomping began to slow, she took out a Thermos and poured cups of purple liquid. "No coffee!" she said. "Bad for your voice before a performance. This is Mabel Juice!"

 "Bad for your guts any time," Dipper murmured to Wendy.

 Creggy G. laughed and pointed. "Hey, I know that dude, yo!"

 From behind Dipper came a hoarse voice: "What time am I on? What's my cue? Dudes, where's my entourage? Why is the sun so bright?"

 "Is that the Love God?" Dipper asked, turning to look.

 "Yeah," Mabel said, glancing around. "He's not on until two-thirty, though. His set's right before Sev'ral Timez. I think he was out partying all night."

 "I was!" The chubby blond tattooed guy in a tight-stretched tee striped with light and dark gray, cut-offs held up by a rope belt, and thong sandals, came reeling up. "Heard ya! I got like Olympian ears for hearing! 'Sup, dudes?" He still wore his small pink backpack with what looked like—but were not—small white fake wings apparently attached to it. He fanned his face with a flattened hand. "Whoo! These local chicks love to get  _down!_  So how long until my gig?"

 "About four hours," Dipper told him.

 "Good! Then I'll snooze a little." He seemed to notice Wendy and gave her a wide grin. "HE-llo, tall, red, and beautiful. Here, have my newest mp3's!" From somewhere he produced a red USB memory stick and flipped it to Wendy, who fielded it.

 "Thanks, dude," she said. "Uh—you feelin' OK? You look kinda rocky."

 The Love God held up his hand beside his mouth, as though confiding, except his voice was loud enough to be heard all over the backstage lot: "Li'l bit hung over. Don't tell the old lady! I was, like, carousing, you know what I mean? Little R-and-R, you understand? Gets me up for my music, yeah!  _Hoo-wahh_!"

 Mabel looked surprised. "Old lady? You're _married_? Or do you mean your mom?"

 "Married! Dig it!" The Love God tossed Mabel a red memory stick, too, and then sat on the picnic table bench, forcing the Sev'ral Timez guys to crowd back and making Leggy P. fall off the other end. "Don't do the ring thing, gold on the finger's not good for my rock-star cred, ya know? Psyche, my wife is. Great gal. Nosy, though. Beautiful but nosy. Don't tell her I said that, 'kay? My mom never thought she was good enough for me, dig it? Long story. Anyways, you run into Psyche, you just tell her Chubby Hubby is meditating before he sings." He winked, got up, looked dizzy, shuffled around in a tight circle, muttered, "Which way's my van?" and then staggered off in what might possibly have been the right direction.

 " _That_  was kinda disturbing," Wendy said.

 "He's a legend, yo!" Chubby Z. said. "Man, I wish he'd given _me_  an album!"

 "Here ya go," Wendy said, tossing it to him. He caught it and clutched it to his heart.

 "I think Love God got off track career-wise when he decided to be a performer," Mabel told Wendy. "I didn't know he was married, though!"

 "Oh, yeah," Dipper said. "Cupid and Psyche. Famous myth. Cupid's mother is Venus, the Roman goddess of love, and it started when she got mad because Psyche was such a beautiful girl that all the guys were crazy about her even without Venus's help. So, in revenge Venus sent Cupid to shoot her with a lead-tipped arrow that would keep her from ever falling in love, but he got distracted by her sheer beauty and pulled out a gold-tipped arrow that caused undying love instead, and he accidentally nicked his own finger on the point of it and fell for her."

 "Dude," Wendy said, tilting her head and smiling, "how do you know this junk?"

 "I read a lot," Dipper told her. "Anyway, Cupid demanded Psyche as his bride—nobody knew who he really was, but he used his, I guess, godly powers to persuade her parents. And then when he married her, he kept her hidden away from the world in a secret castle. All day magical invisible servants took care of her, and he visited her only at night, in the dark, because he didn't want her to find out he was the Love God. But she got curious and one night after he fell asleep, she took an oil lamp to sneak a look at him, and a little of the hot oil dripped on his bare shoulder, burned him, and woke him up—and then Venus found out and got really mad at her, and, well, it gets complicated. Finally, though, Jupiter transformed Psyche into a goddess and forced Venus to accept her as her daughter-in-law and from then on they sort of got along OK."

 "Dude," Deep Chris said, "we could get a tune out of that—Psyche, I'm psycho for you—"

 " _Was_  she psycho?" Mabel asked. "I mean, her name and all."

 "In Greek, 'psyche' means two things," Dipper told her. "One is 'butterfly.' The other is 'soul.' See, the Greeks thought the soul was like the butterfly that emerges from a cocoon. When the body dies, the soul comes flying out of it."

 "Wow," Mabel said, her eyes half-closed, her chin resting on her hand. "That is so close to being interesting."

 Wendy laughed at that, and then she said to a red-faced Dipper, " _I_  think it's interesting. I want to hear the whole story, dude. Let's go claim our spot and you can tell it to me in between the music."

 Mabel rounded up Sev'ral Timez and herded them to their RV to rest and practice a few rough spots. Then of course she'd have to get them dressed in their stage clothes. Wendy shook her head as Mabel and the guys went inside the RV. "I hope their pay's enough to get Mabel a respectable check, dude," she said as she and Dipper walked off hand in hand. "She's workin' hard."

 "Yes, but if she was a manager full-time, she'd get bored after a week of it," Dipper told her. "I worry about her sometimes. I mean, I try to plan out my future logically, but Mabel just—improvises!"

 "Different strokes," Wendy said.

 "I . . . don't know what that means."

 Wendy shrugged. "It's a line my dad uses. Means 'let everybody do their own thing.' Of course, he _says_  that but then he complains if I want to do something he doesn't like."

 "Kind of like our mom," Dipper said. They had to leave the VIP area and then join the shuffling line going into the audience entrance. Tickets had all sold out, and only those wearing the green wristbands could get through—and the guards had stopped about half a dozen people who had unsuccessfully tried to counterfeit the bands.

 But Dipper and Wendy got in easily. "Check it out," she said. "Dad's right down front again. He won't move until after Sev'ral Timez does its bit."

 They didn't wave to or yell at Manly Dan, but went over to the spot on the hillside where, Dipper saw, Thompson and Vanilla already were sitting on a blanket. "They must have showed up super early!" Dipper said.

 "That's Thompson, over-eager and all. Hope he doesn't blow it with Vanilla," Wendy said. "He's a nice guy, but you know—he's Thompson!"

 They walked up the hill and waved. When Vanilla waved back, Wendy said, "Cool! Henna tatts! Where'd you get them?"

 Both of Vanilla's arms had been decorated with intricate swirling lines, some like feathers, others like flowers. "There's a booth," Vanilla said. "Near that big Mystery Bus. We got here so early that I said I'd like to get a little one, and Tommy said, no, get the whole deal." She bent her elbows and held up her forearms, spreading her fingers. "Do you like them?"

 "Totally rad," Wendy said. "Hey, Dip, later on I think I'll get, like, maybe the backs of my hands and wrists done! Is it expensive?"

 "I don't know," Vanilla said, smiling at Thompson. "It was a present."

 "It wasn't all _that_ expensive," Thompson said, reaching to take her hand. But he hugged her and over her shoulder, just to Wendy and Dipper, he mouthed, "It was!"

 Just then the crowd began to murmur and cheer, and Dipper saw the emcee on stage. He spoke into the microphone, nothing happened, he said something inaudible, and then "—at least turn it—oh, now it's on." A shrieking squeal of feedback made everyone groan. Finally, he said, "That better? That's better. OK, guys and gals, good morning, Gravity Falls! Are you ready to rock?"

 "Yeah!" the crowd roared.

 "I can't hear that! Are you ready to rock?"

 "YEAH!"

 "Are you ready for—Ripe and Rotten and the Spoiled Peaches!"

 This time the shout deafened Dipper. A moment later, a black-haired guy and a black-haired girl, both with guitars, bounded onto the stage. Behind them a girl drummer and a girl keyboardist took their places, and the guitars wailed, the crowd screamed, and the second day of Woodstick 2014 was officially, and loudly, underway. 

 

 


	6. Off to Neverland

**Chapter 6: "Off to Neverland"**

Sweating like a stevedore on a Manila dock, Love God worked the stage in the last song of his set, his musicians—the group called themselves Orfeus—laying down a heavy beat and a ringing guitar melody. He danced on the edge of the stage, fist pumping, encouraging the audience to clap along as he sang:

* * *

Loooooove tonight! Looooove's so right!

Geeeeet in tight! Baby, baby, Love me tonight!

Doooo it right! Blaaack or white!

Wronnnnng or right! Love me tonight!

* * *

Danny Orf whaled away, shredding his axe so hard his fingers must be bleeding. Pete Pane snapped his seventh drumstick, snatched up an eighth, and didn't miss a lick. Johnny Pollo, the bassist, kept up a funky rhythm.

The crowd was—well, no other word—was  _loving_  it. Everybody, including Manly Dan, was up, dancing, jumping, swaying, clapping their hands over their heads. As the instrumental part picked up even more steam, Love God screamed, "Yea-ah! That's what I'm talkin' about! Play it, guys!"

He hauled up a girl onto the stage—for all his pudginess, he seemed to have great strength—and they danced wildly together. Then he bent her back and kissed her hard on the mouth, the audience screaming and cheering. The musicians cut the sound back a little as Love God said into the microphone, "How was that, baby?"

"Oh!" the girl squealed, "I love you!"

"Heh-heh! See me after the show, babe! In my . . . van!"

The audience screamed as he set the girl down off the stage, waved a hand at his band, and the music crescendoed again as he hit the last part of the song:

* * *

 

Dousssse that light! I . . . wonnn't bite!—much!

Let your soullll . . . take flight! It's . . . all right!

Lettttt's not. . . fight! Girl, hit . . . the height!

Let's love, make love, sweet love—tonight!

Tonight! Let me hear you say it! Tonight!

When we gonna make love? Tonight!

Do the horizontal boogie! Tonight!

Guys, make her feel all right—

Tonight!

Tonight!

To-hoo-hoo-hoo-NIGHT!"

 

* * *

 

The crowd gave him thunderous applause, and he hoarsely yelled, "Thank you, Gravity Falls! Download my album! Peace and love, my people! Peace and love!"

As the group took its last bow and went offstage, Dipper said, "Well, that happened."

"He's kinda dumpy," Wendy said—loudly, the crowd was still yelling—"but, man, he rocks! That was fun!"

"Hey," Dipper said, "is that Mabel?"

Wendy craned. So many people were on their feet in the audience that—despite their advantage of being on the hillside—it was hard to see the stage. "Yeah, I think it is! She must be announcing for Sev'ral Timez!"

Mabel had the microphone. "Give it up for Love God and Orfeus!" she said—three times, because the crowd noise was still drowning her out. They finally responded with applause, whistles, and cheers.

Then Mabel said, "Yeah, he's a great guy! Well, how you doin'? Great! I'm Mabel Pines, and I'm here to bring on five guys who'll make you ladies get in the mood for what comes later tonight, you know what I mean?"

At that moment, Love God, still onstage but behind the curtain, stopped chugging an energy drink and did a spit-take. "Mabel Pines?" he asked.

Johnny Pollo, busy disassembling the drum kit (they were their own roadies) said, "Huh?" He hadn't had good hearing since 1066, when the group had played Hastings.

"I thought she looked familiar!" Love God said. "Well, at least she's not match-making any more!"

On stage, Mabel was saying, "I got a feeling a lot of you girls are gonna get all smoochie after this next set! An a lot of you guys are gonna get lucky! 'Cause I'm the greatest matchmaker in the world!"

And backstage, Love God's face turned scarlet. "What!"

"Plus," Mabel was saying, "my brother's favorite group can't be here, but hang on! Coming up is our tribute to BABBA! Bear with us! Literally! And now—if you're ready—they're ready! It's my pride and your pleasure—back again after too long—welcome Sev'ral Timez!"

"She's still doin' it!" Love God said. He peeked through a narrow gap.

The audience was cheering as the five members of Sev'ral Timez bounded out on stage, striking a pose and waiting for the shrieks of the girls to die down. Mabel was urging them on, waving her hands—though one gripped the cordless mike. "Little meddler!" Love God muttered.

"Now," Mabel said, "I'm gonna go find my special someone—he's here, he's dreamy, and he's mine, all mine, so hands off, ladies! And together with all of you, I'm gonna enjoy Sev'ral Timez, one more time! Take it, Deep Chris!"

Two things happened at once. First Love God murmured, "You got a sweetie, huh? Let's make that interesting!" And he aimed a finger and sent a zap flying out.

And second, Mabel tossed the mike to Deep Chris and leaped off the stage.

The invisible beam barely missed her.

But . . . it did find a mark.

* * *

Sev'ral Timez had come up with a brand-new _a capella_ song, "Together Again for the Very First Time (Yo!)" and they launched into it, harmonizing beautifully. The audience began to sigh and moan. Well, the girls did. Be fair, some of the guys, too.

Up on the hillside, Vanilla took Thompson's hand and said, "Oh, I used to love this group! This is so nice, Tommy!"

Tambry and Robbie, who had given a well-received set of seven songs earlier that day with Tombstone, had joined their friends on the hillside. "Huh," Robbie said in a grumbly voice. "I guess it's OK to like this song, if this song is the kind of thing you like."

"They're not gonna rock 'em the way we did, though," Tambry said loyally, kissing Robbie on the cheek.

Pam said, "Shh! I wanna hear this. I had their picture on my bedroom wall!"

For a few seconds, they all listened to the songs, but then Wendy said irritably, "You guys!"

"What?" Cindy asked, sounding surprised. She was sitting on Nate's lap.

" _You_  know," Wendy said, nearly growling. "Dipper, wanna walk me to the exit? I feel kinda sick."

"Oh, my gosh!" Dipper said. "What's the matter? Was it the churro? I shouldn't have bought you the churro!"

"Let's just _go,_ OK?"

They made their way to the back of the crowd, then edged around them as Sev'ral Timez went into "You Got Me Ackin' So Cray-Cray" and a lot of the girls in the audience seemed to take that so much to heart they went cray-cray in sympathy. "Oh, God," Wendy groaned as they got near the exit. "There's Pacifica! Let's go before she spots you, man."

They went through the gate and Dipper said, "Should I call Soos?

"No, I'm OK," Wendy said. "I just—you know, the way the girls were acting back there. It gets me, man. I hate the way they go after somebody else's guy, you know?"

"Uh—OK," Dipper said. "Your face is all red. Here, I'll get you some ice water."

"That would be nice."

Dipper ran to a booth where they were selling eight-ounce bottles of water for $7.50 each and bought one. At least the bottle had been nestling down in chunks of ice and was cold. Then when he got back, he didn't see Wendy anywhere. He took out his phone and speed-dialed her.

A second later, she answered. "Hey, Dip."

"Where'd you go? I've got your water."

"Made a stop at the Portable Potties. Listen, I'm gonna leave a note for my dad in his truck, then let's just go to the Shack, OK? I must've overdone it."

"Sure," Dipper said. "Where should I meet you?"

"Head of the driveway into the lot. Wait there for me. I'll be just a minute."

It was more like ten, but finally she came striding along, hanging onto her purse—it had a long strap, but she didn't have it over her shoulder. "Sorry, man," she said. "'S what you get for datin' an old lady."

"Come on," Dipper said, laughing. "It was probably the churro. Here."

He opened the water and handed her the bottle. "You're so nice to me, Dip," she said. "You prob'ly get tired of waiting on me hand and foot. Speaking of which, that was a memorable foot rub, dude. Here's to you!" She raised the bottle and then took a long drink. "That's better. Maybe I was like, dehydrated. Feel like walkin' all the way to the Shack?"

That wouldn't be so hard—they ran nearly that far most mornings—but Dipper said, "Soos is coming down the street with the tram. We can just wait and hop on when he starts back."

"OK."

Another five minutes for the tram to unload—not that many people now that the festival was in full swing—and to come back empty except for Soos. "Climb aboard, dawgs," he said cheerfully. "There's, like, not much traffic for the tram now, so I'm gonna operate on an on-demand basis. They call me when they want to be picked up, and I'll go get them. Oh, hey, guess what? We gotta close the gift shop in the Mystery Bus 'cause, like, we sold totally out of merch! Lucky I put in a rush order for new stuff before the suppliers closed Friday! Otherwise, when we open the Shack on Monday, we'll have nearly zilch to sell!"

"There's still the museum and the Mystery Tour, though," Dipper said. "You ought to get Gideon to be the Wolf Boy. I know he usually does that on weekends, but it'd be something for the tourists."

"Good idea!" Soos said. They made the turn and rumbled toward the Shack, going only a little faster than Dipper and Wendy could have walked it.

Dipper took Wendy's hand.  _Are you going home?_

_-Don't think so. My brothers are over at my aunt's house today and tomorrow. Don't want to kick around alone. Want to come with me, though?_

_Might not be a good idea. Manly Dan._

_-Dude, he's mesmerized as long as Sev'ral Timez is gonna do another set tomorrow._

_Yeah, but you never know._

_-Dip? You love me, don't you?_

_What? Wendy! You know I do!_

_-Yeah, but—oh, never mind. I dunno what's wrong with my head today!_

She pulled her hand away, making Dipper's throat tighten.  _What did I do? It must be the churro. I know it was the churro! Why did I buy her the damn churro?_

They arrived at the Shack and Soos parked the tram. Today the lot was maybe three-quarters full. "Surprised Stan didn't insist on charging people to ride the tram," Dipper said.

"Yeah, but he's started takin' like twenty bucks a head to park here," Wendy reminded him. "And about half of the people who do wind up goin' through the Mystery Bus. Stan's making out all right. Hey, let's go sit in the bonfire glade."

"Sure. Are you feeling better?"

"Meh, I've still got this weird buzzy thing goin' on, but yeah, I think it's a little better."

"Maybe we should drive over to the clinic. It could be food poisoning."

"Dude, I'm hardly ever sick. Just too much sun or something."

They walked to the glade—the day had heated up, and cicadas rasped in the trees. They sat side by side on the log, and Wendy sighed. "Pacifica would take you away from me in a heartbeat, Dip. She's really got a crush on you."

"I told her it wouldn't work out, though," Dipper said. "And she's got Adam."

"Man, she'd drop him like a sledgehammered cow if you smiled at her." Wendy took a long, unsteady breath. "She's pretty. Getting prettier. I think she's probably the prettiest girl in Gravity Falls."

Dipper put his arm around her. "Not to me. You're my Lumberjack Girl. You're my Magic Girl. Nobody can beat that."

"But if Pacifica really went for you—dude, I know how guys are. No offense, but you're all driven by hormones or some biz. It would be impossible for you not to give in."

"As Mabel would say," Dipper responded, "Pfffbbbbt! Fat chance. And you'd be surprised how well I could resist her."

"Yeah, but there's Tambry," Wendy said.

"Well, I—wait, what?"

"Haven't you noticed how she _looks_ at you?" Wendy asked. "Between you and me, I think now that she and Robbie are, you know, sleeping together, she's starting to wonder if she might not have a better choice."

"Wubba," Dipper said. "Bah-buh-bubba." He finally got control of his tongue again: "Tam-Tambry? You think she likes me? I mean, TAMBRY? Come on!"

"She already took Robbie after I broke up with him!"

"Yeah, and they're crazy about each other. I mean, they're both Goth and all!"

"You just don't always notice. Cindy and Pam, too! I saw them glancing at you, man. That's also why Vanilla got those henna tatts, you know—trying to catch your eye. 'Cause all I got's these damn freckles!"

"Your freckles are beautiful!" Dipper said.

"Dipper? Would you go for a ride with me?"

"Sure. Uh—where?"

"Just ride around, clear my head. Now that everybody's out at the field, there's, like, no traffic. I know some quiet spots. I think that's what I need right now."

They walked back to the Shack and Dipper got into the passenger's seat of the Dodge Dart. Wendy opened the back door and put her purse back there. It seemed to take her a couple of minutes. Then she got behind the wheel. "Dipper," she said, "I love you."

"Love you, too!" Dipper said. "You know I do."

"So—I'm sorry I have to do this, OK?"

"Do wh—"

Wendy suddenly pressed a folded bandanna against his face and held him tight. She was a strong girl. "Shh, shh, this won't hurt. It's OK, Dip. Just breathe. It's fine, I'm with you, it's OK."

The bandanna had a sweet smell, with sort of an alcohol edge. Dipper struggled a little, panicking. Sounds started to be weird, almost like someone had put the world on a wah-wah pedal, fading and coming back and fading more. His lips felt numb, and then the world started to turn purple. "Weh—" he said, his voice muffled by the cloth.

"Shh. Shh. I got you, Dip." She kissed his forehead, but he couldn't feel it. "Breathe for me. In and out, in and out."

He couldn't feel his arms, either. The purple haze began to throb in his vision, growing darker each time his heart beat. Then he felt a weird kind of euphoria—nothing mattered, he was with Wendy, she'd make it all right.

And then the deepest darkness closed over him softly, as though he had been taken up in the palm of a giant wearing a black velvet glove, and the fingers of unconsciousness closed and for Dipper the world was gone.

 


	7. Nice Day for a Gack Wedding

* * *

 

**Chapter 7: "Nice Day for a Gack Wedding"**

"Mabel!" Robbie said urgently on the phone, "where's Dipper?"

It was getting on toward break time—six o'clock—and on stage the nostalgia block was coming to an end. Mabel looked up in surprise from where she sat on the hill next to Teek. "Huh? Dipper?" She stood up and looked around. Not far away she saw Nate, Lee, and Thompson and their girls, but Wendy and Dipper seemed to be AWOL. "Uh, I don't see him. Just a minute."

"Where are you going?" Teek asked, standing up and pushing his round glasses back into place. The afternoon had turned hot, and in addition to sporting a sunburn, he was sweating in the swelter and had a nose-slide problem.

"Be back in just a sec," Mabel told him. Into the phone, she said, "Checking now, Robbie."

The group looked up and waved as she approached. "Miss Smile Dip!" Lee sang out. "Cool show, huh?"

"Yeah. Guys, where's Dipper?" Mabel asked.

Nate shrugged. "Wendy and him checked out early, during Sev'ral Timez's set."

"Whaaat? They walked out on my boys?" Mabel remembered the phone. "Uh, Robbie, hi, apparently Dipper's already left. Why?"

"Oh, man," Robbie said with a groan. "We're about to go onstage to do that quick set of three numbers, and I specially wanted him to hear the first one!"

"Um—I'll do a video," she told him.

"Not cool. That's not allowed."

"It is if you're Mabel Pines!" She thumbed off the phone and ran back and grabbed Teek's hand. "C'mon, we gotta get up to the stage!"

She half-dragged him through the gate, around to the VIP entrance, back inside the fence, and then to the front left corner of the stage—inside the "Do Not Cross" tape, but she gave a thumbs-up to a Security guy, who grinned and nodded.

She held up her phone as the last nostalgia group took their bows and made their exit. "Rats, I'm not tall enough! Teek, could you lend a hand?"

"Sure," he said, reaching out. "I'll take the video."

Mabel shook her head impatiently. "Not what I had in mind. Turn around. Not completely, just face the stage. Comin' aboard!" She climbed up on his back. "Stand still, now!"

"Uh—I'll try," Teek said, feeling a little unsteady under her.

"OK, still need altitude, gonna sit on your shoulders! Bend your head forward! Hold onto my legs!"

"Uh, sure," Teek squeaked as she clambered up, using his ears for handholds while she clenched her phone between her teeth. He had never felt a girl's sweat-damp thighs against his cheeks before. For a dude who's about to turn sixteen, that is always a solemn and life-changing moment.

But, since he was made of stern Irish stuff, he gripped Mabel's shins and held on tight. She leaned her elbows on his bent head and said, "Perfect! Good as a tripod! Hold that pose. And hold onto me!"

She'd found her position just in time, because Robbie V. and the Tombstones made their entrance, slouching onto the stage to yells of encouragement. Tambry gave the audience the finger, and they went wild with approval. Then Robbie, with his hoodie hiding everything but his face, came forward, glared, and grabbed the microphone off the stand. "You gonna listen or what?" he asked.

"What!" the audience yelled back.

Finally, he grinned. "Right on! Guys and girls!" he said into the mike, "There's gonna be, like, a forty-minute break for you to grab some eats, but first we're gonna play you some wind-down tunes! Something nice and mellow and, you know, sweet, to get your appetites workin'."

When the crowd booed, he grinned evilly. "Yeah, _that_ was total BS! I'm Robbie V., these are the Tombstones, and we are gonna  _rock ya_!"

He put the mike back on the stand, nodded at the band, and they ripped into an instrumental that Mabel didn't recognize at all—a new song for them, a fast-paced metal number with lots of percussion, Tambry working the keyboard like a maniac, and Robbie crouched over his lead guitar, producing unearthly and yet urgently stirring harmonics—and yet for some reason, to Mabel the melody that emerged from the chaos sounded a little familiar.

She recorded that one, and for good measure the next one ("In the Pits") and the final one ("Gloom, Meet Doom"), which were Tombstones standards. When the set ended, the crowd was cheering, Robbie grabbed Tambry and planted a kiss on her lips, and the band went off holding up their hands raised in hook-'em signs. The still-applauding crowd began to dissipate, Mabel climbed down from Teek's shoulders—"Hope I didn't hurt you," she said, and he muttered, "Made me a little stiff."

They went backstage. "I got the performance," she told Robbie. "I don't know where Dipper and Wendy went."

"Bummer," Robbie said. He sighed. "Well, maybe we can do it again for them tomorrow. I wanted the little dude to hear it and see what he thought." He frowned. "But they, like, totally  _left?_ I thought they were takin' a bathroom break or something, but that was a couple hours ago. They're not back  _yet_?"

"Maybe Dip's chasing some monster or solving a mystery or something," Mabel said. "he gets distracted easily, not like me. Oh, look, a squirrel!" She took a picture of the tree rat, which had posed on top of a signpost.

Robbie sighed in his trademarked everyone's-against-me way. "OK, thanks for vidding, though."

"Huh? Oh, sure, no prob. C'mon, Teek."

The crowd was streaming out and down the long drive to the booths on what the attendees called the Chum Line, dozens of places selling everything from overpriced hot dogs and burgers to stir-fry, flatbread wraps, meat on a stick, and questionable churros. "Want to get something to eat?" Teek asked her.

"No, I want to find Dipper," Mabel told him.

"But you don't want to eat?" Teek asked. "That's a first."

"You can be replaced, you know."

He dropped his head. "I'm sorry."

She put her fingers under his chin, tilted his head up, and kissed him. "Don't be, I was kidding. I wanna find a quiet spot."

To do it, they went back into the performers' parking lot and sat on the running board of a maroon 1940 Lincoln touring car, the vehicle belonging to the Handlebar Bros., an unaccountably popular singing trio.

Mabel punched in Dipper's number. After four rings, it went to voice mail: "Hi, this is Dipper Pines. Leave a message!"

"Real creative, Bro," Mabel muttered, but when the phone beeped, she said, "Broseph! Where you at? Call me ASAP!"

"Not answering?" Teek asked. "Maybe he and Wendy want some privacy."

"He knows better than that! Nobody gets privacy when Mabel's curious!" She phoned Wendy. It rang twice, then someone picked up and immediately hung up again. Mabel held her phone away, staring at it furiously. "Whaaat? No, you _didn't_!"

She tried again, and this time she immediately got Wendy's voice mail: "'Sup? You nearly got Wendy. Tell me who to call back, 'kay?" Mabel didn't bother leaving a message.

"She turned her phone off! I don't believe it!" Mabel yelped.

"What's wrong?"

"They're in trouble!" Mabel said, jumping up. "Wendy would never cut off a call from me! Maybe somebody's kidnapped them and stolen her phone! Come on, Teek. We gotta find them!"

"Uh—don't you have the tracker app on your phone? I know you could locate Dipper—"

"I took it off! I needed the memory for tunes!"

"Uh—where do we start looking?

Mabel pointed to the sky. "We start at the Shack!"

* * *

 

"Mabel again," Wendy said, turning the phone off. "Man, I wish you'd wake up."

Beside her, Dipper lolled against the stone wall, still out of it. Wendy reached out and stroked his hair, then touched his bare chest.

— _Dip? You in there? Dude, please wake up! I am so sorry! I had to do it, though, to keep you safe!_

He didn't respond. She didn't even catch a flicker of dreams, as she sometimes did even when they weren't touching. Wendy gulped back tears.

"I am so sorry," she said again, this time out loud. "It's not your fault, it's _them_! We gotta do something, Dip. Don't worry, I'll think of something." She hugged him. "You're not too cold? I got you, Dipper. I'm holding you. It'll be OK. I'll protect you." She leaned her cheek against his head and hummed a broken tune, trying to reach him, or maybe to comfort him even if he just picked up on it subconsciously.

But at the same time, she was thinking,  _I'm going crazy! I'm losing it! What's the matter with me?_

She remembered the weird space parasite that had, for a short time, made everything paranoid and fearful in Dipper come to the surface and dominate him. She wondered if she had one inside her—but how? The two Stans had seen the thing destroyed, and there weren't any more of them. Still—

"Dude," she said miserably, "I think there's something wrong in my head. What are we gonna do, Dipper? What are we gonna do?"

Then for a panicky moment, she thought,  _I might've killed him!_

But no, his bare skin was warm against her arm and cheek, and he breathed regularly and normally. He would wake up eventually.

"I'll be here for you, Dip," Wendy promised, kissing his forehead, kissing his birthmark. "I won't ever leave you. I'm here for you, man. I'm here for you." Her tears ran hot over her cheek and dripped onto his shoulder.

* * *

 

"Dipper?" Stan asked, frowning. He had come back to the Shack—"Just so much of that racket a man can take"—for a break from Woodstick and was relaxing in his old chair, watching the evening news on TV. "Nah, I ain't seen him at all today. What, is there some boogeyman on the prowl?"

"I don't know!" Mabel insisted. "He and Wendy left the concert and nobody saw where they went! Her car's not where she parked it this morning! They're not answering their phones!"

Stan shrugged. "Ya know what, Mabel? Sounds like young love to me! I mean, you and Dip, you're nearly fifteen, and I was fifteen when I lost my vir—um, my head over a girl, I mean. Don't get any ideas! That's the trouble with kids today, they get ideas! I never had an idea until I was out of high school!"

"Do you have the tracker app on your phone?" Teek asked him.

"Now you're just talkin' crazy talk," Stan said. "What's an app? 'S not even a word!"

"Wait a minute," Mabel said. "I think I have an idea."

"No!" Stan yelled. "What did I just say? Bad Mabel!"

"This has all the earmarks of a love spell," Mabel said. "Vanilla and Thompson said that Wendy was acting all weird and grumbly at the girls. And that was just after—oh, my gosh! Love God's gig! They said the two of them got up and left just after I went on stage to announce Sev'ral Timez!"

"Yeah, I gotta admit they were a big hit," Stan said. "So, they'll be worth their two and a half per cent."

"Three!" Mabel yipped.

Stan shrugged. "Meh, it was worth a shot."

"Come on," Mabel said. "Grunkle Stan, you have to take us back to Woodstick. I gotta talk to Love God!"

* * *

 

The first thing that Dipper felt was the cold hardness of the stone he sat on and leaned against. The second was Wendy's warm soft arm wrapped around him, and her cheek leaning on his head. The third was the rope that kept his hands tied behind him.

_Um. What happened?_

"Dipper!" Wendy kissed his cheek. "You're OK! Dude, I was so worried!"

"Where—where are we?"

"That cave, you know, the one where that monster took Mabel. I brought you here to keep you safe from them."

_Cave? You mean the ones the Gnomes call the Gack of Doom? Safe from who? What's happening? Aggh! Why am I naked?_

"You're not, you're not," Wendy assured him. "I just needed to make sure you wouldn't try to run away before you understand what's going on. Your clothes are in my car, but I left your shorts on. The black boxer briefs. Mabel's idea?

"How'd I get here?"

"I carried you, dude. Fireman's lift. You're heavy!"

Dipper's head seemed to be spinning. "Wait, I'm woozy—hey, I'm tied up! what did you do?"

"Chloroform," she admitted. "Just a little, not as much as you'd use on a bear. Took it from my dad's truck before we left Woodstick, 'cause I knew you'd want to stay and fight it out, but we can't risk it!"

"Untie me!"

"Gotta wait until you feel totally recovered," she said, her voice high-pitched and unsteady, as though she were a little drunk. "I don't want you to hurt yourself!"

"Wendy—please, go slow! I don't understand!"

She sat beside him on a round boulder, her arms around him. They weren't far inside the cave—he could see the opening, like a long, downcurving mouth, and the sandy floor littered with fallen stone from the time when the alien craft had blasted off with the captured monster inside.

Wendy was nuzzling his cheek. "Dude, the girls! They were all eyeing you so hard! I know what they had on their minds. They want to take you away from me! And I can't let that happen. Listen, while you were sleepin', I've been thinking about the whole mess. I've got a lot saved up. We could run off and get married! I mean, there are states where kids fifteen can marry with their parents' consent, but we don't even have to worry about that. See, the kids at school talk about this guy who makes these great forged IDs, not just drivers' licenses, but birth certificates and passports, even. Costs a couple thousand, but I could get him to do you a set—"

"Uh—Wendy?"

Feverishly, she overrode him: "We can go like real far away—maybe Vermont, or Canada, even—and I can get us a place and find a job and keep you at home, and you won't ever have to go out, and they can't see you—"

"Wendy, we can't do that!"

Wendy was crying, not sobbing, but he could feel her tears falling hot on his bare skin. "There's something bad wrong with me, Dipper," she groaned. "Something's busted in my head, man! Listen! We can't let anybody come between us! I love you too much! We—we could hold hands and jump into the Bottomless Pit! Like Romeo and Juliet, be together forever—"

"It doesn't work like that for people," Dipper told her. "I thought I explained it once—you fall for close to half an hour, always going down, but then you pop right back out the top again."

"We'd have half an hour alone!" Wendy said. She reached all the way around his back, and he squirmed as he felt her fingers tweaking his left nipple. "Mm. I could make you feel real good, Dipper. Make you forget those other girls!"

"We—we can't do that!" Dipper said, squirming.

"I know you like this, dude! Mm. I don't want to wait! I know, we _should_ wait! You're too young for this! I'd never do this! I _want_ to do this! God, Dipper, I'm comin' apart!"

"I'll help you," Dipper said. "Untie me. Please."

"But—the other girls—"

"They don't mean anything to me!" Dipper said. "Untie me and I'll prove it. I'll show you."

Wendy hesitated, but finally she had him turn around, and he felt her loosen the knots, then pull away the rope binding his wrists. He turned to face her. "Take my hands."

She held onto them, and he could feel her trembling.

"Look in my eyes."

She did, leaning her forehead against his.

— _Oh, Dipper, help me, please!_

For a few seconds, he couldn't even get his breath. He caught the despairing wave of emotion rolling from her, overwhelming, blinding. He felt the edge of her distrust, her anger at Tambry and Cindy and Pam and Vanilla cutting into her mind like a cruel knife.

_There's no one but you, Magic Girl. Only you. I'm totally open. Look in my eyes and see it._

"Oh, Dipper!"

For a moment, everything leveled out. Then, fiercely, Wendy snarled, " _They're_  makin' you do this! I'll kill them all!"

And in that terrifying instant, Dipper felt that she absolutely meant it.

 


	8. It's Unnatural

* * *

 

**Chapter 8: "It's Unnatural"**

Mabel and Teek jumped out of the Stanleymobile before it had even stopped rolling. Stan yelled, "Good luck, kids!" When an ear-splitting wave of death metal performed by Excessive Cesspool broke over the parking lot, he flinched and grunted, "Oy, _this_  again!" Then he threw the car into reverse, yanked it into a tight 180, and sped away, leaving behind a cloud of dust glowing nearly golden in the late-afternoon sunlight.

Mabel texted Robbie, who was sitting up on the hill with Tambry and the others, and told them to come and meet her at the VIP gate. Then she had an inspiration. She ran inside the audience area, leaving Teek to meet the rescue rockers, and searched until she found Manly Dan.

" _HI,_ " she yelled over the number being played by E.C. ("Shoot First, Ask Questions, Shoot Again," a love ballad). "Y _OU WANT TO MEET SEV'RAL TIMEZ?_ " She had to yell it right into his hairy ear twice more before he could hear her.

" _HECK, YEAH!_ " he yelled so loud that the band stopped playing and the lead singer said in a surprised voice, "Cool! Somebody  _likes_  us!"

Dan lumbered out with Mabel as Excessive Cesspool tried to find the key again. "OK," she told him, "if you help us look for Love God, then I'll introduce you to Sev'ral Timez. In fact, if you want to, you can even take them all out to dinner!"

"Really?" Manly Dan's eyes grew round and soulful, like the one that cat in the boots had in the computer-animated movie. "My dream come true!"

He, Robbie, Tambry, Thompson, Vanilla, Lee, Pam, Nate, and Cindy split up, the couples going in teams as they wandered among the parked vans and RV's. They looked, but there was hardly any use calling out, now that Excessive Cesspool had started up again. Speaking right into Mabel's ear, Teek asked, "Aren't we gonna look, too? You and I?"

Mabel raised an admonishing finger. "The best way to find somebody is to stay in one spot. Sooner or later they'll show up!"

"That," Teek said, "is either brilliant or insane."

"It's _both!_ " Mabel said proudly.

It took less than five minutes, and thankfully in that time E.C. had finished its set and a soulful banjo-playing folk musician was onstage, playing songs the temporarily deafened audience understood only through lip-reading. Manly Dan had made the discovery, and he frog-marched Love God toward them, with the latter protesting: "Watch the wings, man! They're not just decorations!"

"Here he is!" Dan rumbled, his grin showing through his red beard like the sun through a bloody storm cloud. "Found him eatin' dinner!"

Love God belched, looked at Mabel, blinked, and said, "Oh, it's  _you_!"

Mabel sent out a text. Then she grabbed the front of Love God's tee-shirt, got up in his face, and said, "You got some 'spainin' to do! Whoo! What've you been eating?"

"Onion rings!" he said, the words bringing tears to her eyes. "I love 'em!" He gave her an evil grin, crusted with a little brown breading. "So—want me to fix things up with you and your boyfriend, don't you?"

"No! Hey, Robbie!"

"You got him," Robbie said as he and Tambry came around one of the buses. A minute later Thompson and Vanilla showed up, too.

"Guard this canary," Mabel snarled. "Manly Dan, come with me and meet the guys!"

"Oh, boy!" Manly Dan said. "Uh—do I smell OK?"

Mabel sniffed. "A lot like a bear. Don't worry, they'll like it."

A few minutes later Dan shepherded the excited Sev'ral Timez guys toward his truck. Chubby Z. waved at Mabel's friends and yelled, "Guys! We're gonna have  _cuisine_ , yo! I don't know what that is, but I  _want_  me some of it!"

Mabel brought up the rear, rubbing her eyes as if in exasperation. As the others followed Manly Dan to the truck, she shouted after them, "Back and in bed by nine-thirty, you guys! And I'm not fooling! You got another show tomorrow!" She stretched. "Oy, my back! I gotta find them a new manager. I can't take this crap much longer. Where was I? You!" she turned back to the Love God. "What did you  _do_?"

By then Lee and Pam had joined them, and a minute after that Nate and Cindy sauntered up, holding hands.

"Well?" Love God asked with a smirk, raising an irritating eyebrow at Mabel. "How do you  _feel_  with all these girls around? Hmm?"

"Empowered!" Mabel said. "What are you even _talking_ about?"

Love God blinked uncertainly. "Uh—which one's your boyfriend?"

"Teek! T.K. O'Grady! Right, Teek?"

Teek stepped forward. "Right!" to Love God, he said sympathetically, "You might as well tell Mabel what she wants to know. There's no clean way out of this."

Love God scratched his head. "Uh. Girl, don't, uh, you feel a tiny bit threatened? I mean, look at all these  _ladies_  ogling your  _boyfriend_."

"Ew!" Vanilla said. "No, thank you!"

"Hey," Teek said. "Words can hurt."

"Sorry, man."

"They're not _ogling_ him!" Mabel said. "What did you do?"

" _You_ figure it out!" Love God said, crossing his tattooed arms. "You're so smart, best matchmaker in the world and all!"

Mabel shook her forefinger right in his face. "Nuh-uh! You can't put this on me! Just tell me what you did, OK? Don't you make me pull out the heavy artillery! You won't like it!"

Love God rolled his eyes. "Pfft! Right! Girl, I am, like, a god! What could  _you_ possibly do to  _me_?"

"This won't end well," Teek muttered to Robbie as they both took a step back.

Mabel's face had brightened to a beet red. "OK, so you  _don't_  wanna play nice. You brought this on yourself!" She filled her lungs with air and then yelled, "I invoke Psyche!"

The deity of passion's eyes nearly popped out of his head in evident alarm. "What? No, man!" Love God shouted, looking around as though searching for an escape route.

Too late. The air nearby shimmered blue, became a glowing, swirling whirlpool of light, and then coalesced into the figure of a woman who was so—her looks were absolutely—she was stunning—I mean she—a thousand ships—walked in beauty like the night—oh,  _fine_.

OK, Truth in Story requirements demand that I stick to the facts: She was _nice_ -looking, OK? Not catwalk-drop-dead-heart-stopping gorgeous or anything. Pretty enough, dark-haired, big deep-blue eyes—her best feature—a fair figure, really striking butterfly wings (iridescent, pink and yellow and pale blue), and she wore a flowing white dress, not billowy but clingy, revealing her charms as much as concealing them. I mean, guys would _always_ look at her twice, but, heck, I mean they'd look at a  _dog_  with butterfly wings twice, too. I know _I_ would. But they might glance a third time at Psyche because, let's face it, she looked so  _nice_.

Unless seen with the eyes of love. Then it was a whole different matter. You could tell that Love God was afraid of her—but his eyes showed that he deeply, truly, utterly, eternally  _adored_  her. He had to see her as beyond beautiful. In the _Encyclopedia Galactica o_ f his heart, her picture was right beside the entry for "Dazzling, scintillating, utmost beauty." Sure, it has an entry for that. It's the freaking E _ncylcopedia Galactica._  Don't bother me.

"Hi, hon," Love God said in a small voice.

She stepped forward, inclined her head a little on her long, graceful neck—she was a foot taller than he was—and kissed him lightly. Then she straightened up and put her hands on her hips. "What did you do this time, Pudge?"

"Aw, Psych," he groaned, squirming. "Nothin'! I mean, she deserved it! And it wasn't anything  _permanent_! And I don't think it worked at all! It shouldn't even count!"

Psyche glanced around. "Hi," she said to Mabel. "Love your sweater! I'm Psyche."

"Thanks! Glad to meet you," Mabel said, with a wide grin. "Mabel Pines, big, big love fan, heard about your story, fabulous, you _go_ , girl!"

Teek said uncomfortably, "Uh, you're not from around here, are you, Miss, uh Butterfly?"

"I'm from another dimension," Psyche explained.

"I'll bet you're a star!" Mabel told her. "Anyway, my brother and his girlfriend—she's a little older than he is—"

"Pudge is  _eons_  older than I am," Psyche said with a careless shrug that left at least Robbie and Lee, who had the best view, wondering if that thin dress might slip and reveal her bosom (it didn't).

Love God blushed. "Oh, Psych! Please!"

"You're old enough to know better, anyway!" Psyche turned back to Mabel. "I think he's having a mid-eternity crisis. All of a sudden Olympus isn't good enough, so he decides to come to Earth and make it in the music business. He's just a big baby, really."

"Hey, lady, believe it or not, he ain't doing too bad," Robbie said. "I mean, he's real popular."

Love God beamed and tossed him a red USB stick. "Have some .mp3's!"

"But right now," Mabel said, holding up her hand for attention, " _right now,_  I want to know what he did this afternoon! 'Cause he sure did _something_!"

"What was it, Pudge?" Psyche asked. She reached out and twirled a strand of Love God's hair around her slim finger. "Come on, tell me," she coaxed with a winning smile. "You _know_ you want to, baby."

With a sigh, Love God mumbled, "I hit Mabel with a jealousy curse. Or thought I did."

"Jealousy?" Mabel asked incredulously. "I don't have a jealous bone in my heart!"

"This," Teek said, "is one hundred per cent true."

"Which spell was it?" Psyche asked.

"I call this one 'Yandere She Blows,'" Love God said with a touch of pride. "Makes a girl _insanely_ jealous. I mean, we're talking way beyond the boundaries, man! She gets all crazy possessive, and she scares the guy she's in love with so bad that odds are good he breaks up with her! But the spell itself only lasts for twelve hours, so when it wears off, they get back together if they're emteebee—"

"They're what? That doesn't even make sense!" Mabel said.

"It's an acronym!" Love God said.

Mabel stared at him. "Like a weight lifter?"

"That's not  _nym_ , it's  _bat_!"

"Like a vampire?" Mabel asked a little more hopefully.

Love God opened his palms to the sky in a  _why me_? gesture. "No, I mean it's a word made up of the initial letters of Meant To Be. You know, some couples are just destined to fall truly, deeply, madly, eternally, _et cetera et cetera et cetera_ , like—" he looked around, then pointed with two fingers—"Um, OK, like him and her!"

"Robbie and Tambry?" Teek asked.

"Cool!" Robbie said, putting his arm around Tambry.

Tambry had her phone out, texting: "Status update: Robbie and I are Meant to Be, and it's official!"

"But _they_  were the ones I cast the spell on a couple years back!" Mabel said. "I got them together!"

"Yeah, and that pissed me off big time!" Love God said. "But hey, dumb beginner's luck and all! If they hadn't been MTB, it would've worn off in three hours!"

"Time out!" Teek said, giving the coach's signal, a T made with his hands. "Mabel and I are fine, and she's not jealous. She doesn't show any sign of your cursing her or whatever. So, if you didn't hit her with the spell, who  _did_  you hit?"

"Well—she  _was_  movin' around a lot," Love God confessed. "I dunno. I was backstage, pointing my finger out through the gap in the curtains. All's I could see was the stage and the people on it."

"He's blind," Psyche confided. "Well-known fact."

Love God got huffy: "A little nearsighted is _not_ blind!"

"Hush, Pudge! Wear your glasses like a good cherub, why don't you? Mabel? What do you think happened, dear?"

"I think," she said, "that your husband tried to zap me, missed, and the shot must've hit either my brother or Wendy Corduroy!"

Psyche nodded and asked, "She's his girlfriend?"

"Ew," Robbie said. Tambry elbowed him.

"They  _like_  each other," Mabel said. "A lot. Smooches galore. OK, sure, he's fourteen, she's seventeen, but he's catching up! End of the month, he'll be fifteen! Only another couple of years to go and they're even!"

Love God whispered to Teek, "Does that even make sense?"

"To her it does," Teek replied.

Looking mildly annoyed with her husband, Psyche said to Mabel, "Picture them in your mind, Mabel, dear. May I touch you?"

Mabel stood up straight. "Lady, it will be my honor!"

Psyche put her hand on Mabel's head, a touch as light as a real butterfly alighting, Mabel closed her eyes, and Psyche said, "I see them! So—you must be an artist. Thank you, Mabel." Then she turned to her husband. "Those two kids have something real, Pudge. You shouldn't have fired a spell where you might miss and hit an innocent couple. You have to make this right."

He squirmed. "Aw! It'll wear off by tomorrow morning!"

" _Now_ ," Psyche insisted. "You know what might happen!"

"What might happen?" Mabel asked.

Love God looked embarrassed. "Aw, if I hit him, nothing much, 'cause girls are more understanding about junk like this and most kinda even enjoy it when their guys are jealous."

Tambry glared at him. "That is  _so_  sexist!"

Love God either didn't hear her or pretended not to: "But if I zapped her for real and she goes all nuts on him, which she very likely would, it might cause him to have second thoughts about the relationship. He could sort of fall out of love with her, at least temporarily. Now, that will heal over too, but it could hurt her feelings majorly, and  _her_  getting over it might take months of them getting together Platonically, her constantly apologizing and him slowly coming around—"

"They don't  _have_  months!" Mabel said. "Dipper and I have to go back home to California at the end of this month! That's hundreds of miles away! They might not see each other until next June!"

"That could be a real problem," Psyche said. "It might cause lots of psychological damage for both of them. Even if it didn't, they'd be miserable for most of the year, and it's all your fault. Can't have that, Pudge."

"OK, OK," Love God grumbled. "Geeze, you shoot one little jealousy beam—where are they? Bring 'em to me, and I'll fix them up."

"We don't  _know_  where they are!" Mabel said. "They ran away from the concert and disappeared and nobody's seen them and they're not answering their phones! They could be anywhere!" Even to herself, her voice seemed nearly hysterical with worry.

"Calm down," Psyche said softly. "As I said, I'm from another dimension, and I have powers and perceptions that you lack. I think I can locate your brother. How close are you?"

"We're twins!" Mabel said.

"The Mystery Twins!" Teek said loyally.

"And we stick together! We even give each other sibling hugs! With pats!"

"Excellent," Psyche said. "Being twins and liking each other makes it so much easier. Think of your brother again, really concentrate on him, and let me hold your hand."

Mabel extended her hand, and Psyche grasped it. Psyche's hand was so light and cool it felt like the caress of silk. " _There_  he is," Psyche said. "Oh, poor darling. I sense he's deeply troubled. The girl is the victim, Pudge, not the boy. They are . . . not very far from here—not half a world away, but only fifty stadia or a little more."

Mabel frowned. "What in the which now?"

"Stadia," Teek said. "Roman measure of distance. Eight of them made one Roman mile."

Psyche looked impressed and told Mabel, "Sweetie, take it from me, this boy's a keeper. All right, we need to disenchant this poor young woman. We'll teleport. Pudge and I can take one person with us—you, Mabel. The rest of you will have to stay here."

"Teek!" Mabel said. "Meet me in the Shack later!"

"I am  _not_ teleporting!" Love God insisted, stamping one sandaled foot. "Psych, please! I just ate a  _humongous_  dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, biscuits, onion rings, coleslaw, and a dicey churro! You know how when I've been eating, I get telesick from teleporting!"

"It's high time you watched your diet, my love," Psyche said coolly. "Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that."

He made a face. "Do I  _have_  to?"

Psyche traced the shape of his ear with a teasing forefinger and smiled. She cooed, "What do you think?"

"Aw."

Psyche took his hand and then reached for Mabel's. She said to the others, "You may want to step back a little. Don't be alarmed at what you will see. This is perfectly safe, probably. Tomorrow you may not even be able to remember any of this clearly."

"Lady," Tambry said, "this is, like, no big deal to any of us. We live in Gravity Falls."

"Oh. I stand corrected," Psyche said with a smile. "Give us a little room. That's good. All right, Mabel, Pudge, close your eyes. Keep your arms and legs within the teleportation bubble at all times. Don't attempt to walk or even move in any way until the bubble has come to a full and complete stop. In the event of a malfunction, you're toast. Thank you for letting us fill your teleportation needs. Here we go!"

The three of them vanished in a puff of pale blue light that became a spinning whirlpool and then vanished with a soft  _beeyoop!_

A beat after they disappeared, Robbie cleared his throat. "So, uh, for real, you're Mabel's boyfriend, huh?" he asked Teek.

Teek shrugged. "I guess I kind of am."

Robbie shook his head, though he was smiling."No offense, kid—but you got guts!"

Teek smiled back happily. "She makes it easy," he said, wondering where Mabel—and the Love God and Psyche, too, but mainly Mabel—had gone.

 


	9. Stone Cold Floor

* * *

 

**Chapter 9: "Stone Cold Floor"**

"Hold me," Wendy moaned, clinging to him desperately. "Hold me, Dipper. I think I'm goin' nuts again."

"It's OK, it's OK," Dipper said, his arms around her. He couldn’t stop shivering. It was getting darker—outside the cave, the sun was low, the bowl-like valley everyone had once called Creepy Hollow fading from sight in deepening long purple shadows.

He and Wendy had slipped down to the floor of the cavern, a layer of cold sand over cold solid stone, and he sat with his arms around her and held on tight as she leaned against him. Her trembling, agonized fits came on unpredictably, and because their touch-telepathy still was strong, he felt her recurring rushes of hot blind anger, cold deep despair, and desperate love. There was no telling which emotion each attack would bring. Softly, with concern, he murmured, " _Please_  let me call somebody. Let me at least call Mabel."

He felt her stiffen in his arms and sensed that anger was working within her. Wendy growled like a wolf. "No! I don't trust her!"

Holding on, not letting himself feel resentment or disappointment, Dipper said, "Wendy, she's my sister! She feels that you're like her big sister!"

With a convulsive movement, Wendy grabbed hold of Dipper—her fingers clutched his bare chest and shoulder so hard they hurt—and she said miserably, "No! Remember when we got stuck back in the comic-book con universe? Remember that thing called  _shipping_? She was on that computer a lot, and she was _way_ too interested in Pinecest!"

"Yeah," Dipper said uncomfortably. "She told me about that, but she didn't like it, and we never—you know we never—I mean we don't _feel_ that way about each other at all. Look inside me and see!"

She gripped him even harder and Dipper opened his mind to her. He felt her consciousness enter his, feverishly reviewing his feelings for Mabel, and she started to jerk with sobs. "I'm so sorry! I _know_ you're not into that, Dip," she said between gales of tears. "But Mabel—I mean—you're so attractive to _all_ girls, there's no telling, even her—"

"I'm not, I'm not," Dipper said, stroking her hair. "You know I'm not. I don't even  _want_  to be. I just want to be good enough for you!" He touched her face. "Fight it, Wendy! You're a Corduroy."

"Don't call Mabel, please don't! I know better, but if I saw her, I might—I don't know _what_ I might do! Dipper! Hold me!"

"I won't let you go," he promised, tightening his embrace. "Fight it off! Be tough!"

She was shaking again. "Yeah. Yeah. I—I'll try. Oh, Dip, what's  _wrong_  with me? I've never been like this!"

"Um," Dipper said hesitantly, "don't get mad or anything, I'm just asking, but you didn't happen to eat any brown Smile Dip, did you?"

Another flash of dangerous rage. "I'm not a stoner!"

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Dipper said, patting her shoulder. "It's OK, it's OK, we're together in this. Hush, don't cry. It's passing now, I feel it. You'll be OK. I think you're getting better. They're not lasting as long."

Gasping for breath, Wendy gradually calmed a little. "Oh, man, I can't stand much more of this. We—we gotta find out what's wrong with me! I think I'll die if this keeps up. Don't let me do anything crazy, please, Dipper!"

Dipper had never felt so helpless, not even in the presence of the Shapeshifter, not in Mabel's bubble, not even when the ghost was turning him into wood. Tentatively he began, "We could call your dad. He's strong enough to—"

"No! He'd never let me see you again," Wendy groaned. "That would kill me, too!"

"Not going to happen," Dipper assured her. How weird was this? Here he was, less than half dressed, holding onto the girl he'd crushed on for years, and she'd already offered to—well, make him _feel good_ , right then and there—and he fought against a terrible temptation, but—

"Robbie?" Dipper asked. "Call him?"

Wendy shook her head. "He'd just bring Tambry, and I might tear into her! Could—you think we could just _hide_ here, live here together in this cave until—until this ends, one way or the other? Oh, God. I can't even  _think_ , man! Oh, Dipper, my head's screwed up so bad!"

"If we tried that, I think they'd come looking for us," Dipper said gently. "Sooner or later they'd find your car, and Grunkle Ford or somebody would guess where we were." He kissed her cheek. "But maybe you're getting over whatever it is. It hasn't lasted as long or been so bad these last two times. Just—just don't think about, you know, other girls and stuff."

"Can't help it, dude," Wendy said. She was hoarse from alternately raving and crying. "I don't remember being scared like this for, like forever. Not since I was a little girl. Not even with Bill Cipher. But, man, I'm coming _apart_ here!"

"No, no, you're not. I got you," Dipper said. He was trying to force himself not to come up with plans or ideas—Wendy could read his mind whenever they were in physical contact, and he didn't dare let go of her to plan.

She'd set her phone down on a rock, but the first time he'd considered trying to get hold of it and call someone, he felt a surge of fear and anger in her and a determination to smash the phone to pieces if he made the least move toward it. That was out.

He couldn't plan, which was as hard to him as it would be for anybody else trying to hold his breath indefinitely. Dipper concentrated on sending her what reassurance he could:  _It's getting better. You'll get through this. Hang on, Wendy. I love you. Hold on and we'll get through it together._

He felt her pitiful exhaustion and hoped she'd fall asleep. That might be the best thing for her—rest. Lord knew what had happened, sunstroke or exhaustion or maybe even that damn churro, but if she slept some, maybe the—what, toxins, whatever—would clear out and she'd wake up herself again.

But—how much of her old self would be left? This was going to be hard for her to get over, harder than her traumatic break-up with Robbie, harder than recovering from Weirdmageddon. Dipper wouldn't let himself think about it, wouldn't let himself worry, because she'd pick up on any doubt or concern of his. When he'd first regained consciousness, when he was frightened and confused, his feelings only amplified hers.

Bill Cipher had once boasted that Dipper would fail when he entered Mabel's bubble because it was a perfect diabolical trap. Only someone with a will of titanium could resist it.

Now Dipper tried to summon up that strength. Not for himself.

For Wendy.

All for Wendy.

* * *

The blue shimmer of light appeared in the scrubby valley near the Gack of Doom, the cavern where Mabel had been imprisoned by the Sentivore, and immediately Love God fell to his chubby knees and threw up spectacularly. Even a Gnome would have been impressed, though what came up was no rainbow.

"Gah!" he said, spitting. "I told you! Didn't I tell you? I told her, didn't I, Mabel?"

"Yeah, yeah, big deal," Mabel said impatiently. "I've thrown up _lots_ of times! Just go with the flow, man! Get over it!"

"There's that churro," Love God said, staring at the messy puddle. "I  _thought_  it tasted off."

"You need to avoid greasy foods," Psyche told him. "Here." She held out her hand, and a handkerchief materialized out of air. "Get up. Let me wipe your mouth. There, that's better. No, I won't kiss you right now!" She tossed the handkerchief and it vanished, but a bottle of blue liquid popped into her hand in its place. "Take this. Rinse and spit. Do it twice."

"Mouthwash?" Mabel guessed.

"A strong one," Psyche told her. "Only available in divine dimension drugstores. Oh, and you can order it on Amazone, of course."

Love God churned the stuff in his mouth, spat, and then glugged in some more.

"I might get some for Grunkle Stan," Mabel said. "He could use it. He's dating, you know."

"Yeah," Love God said, after rinsing and spewing a second time. "Gah, that's better. Yeah, both your great-uncles are romancin'. That just _might_ be my work, you know. Heck, December loves are better than none! I think they're both going to be happy." With a confident smile, he added, "I'm aware of all love relationships everywhere among mortals—"

"Don't fib, Pudge!" Psyche warned, vanishing the mouthwash bottle. To Mabel, she said, "He can catch the vibes when names are mentioned, but he's not omniscient."

"Could be if I wanted to!" Love God said in a sulky voice.

"Kiss me, Cupid," Psyche said.

They kissed. Mabel knew she should look away, but thinking of herself and Teek, she considered it her duty to study their technique, which was quite impressive for an old married couple. When they broke the kiss, Love God murmured, "Aw, sweet, Psych. You know I love you."

She patted his cheek. "And I love you, Pudge. Let's get this done and you come home and sleep in your own bed tonight." Playfully, she nudged him and added, "I  _could_  take a scented candle and dribble some hot candle wax on your chest, you naughty boy."

"Ooh!" he said with way too much enthusiasm.

"Kinky," Mabel observed.

Psyche shrugged and smiled. "If it doesn't hurt anyone and doesn't scare the horses, so what?"

Mabel gave her a high five. "Lady, I like your attitude! OK, I know this place. Look at the cliffs over there—see? The dark cave? I'll bet you anything they're in there. This one time we were sort of trapped in there, and we all thought Dipper was dead—Wendy was just crazy then with grief—and they probably came back here. But I don't know why Dipper would. It has real bad associations for him."

"I don't believe," Psyche said thoughtfully, "he had much choice." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes, they're in there," she said. She reached out without looking and grabbed Love God by the ear. Before he could protest, Psyche said angrily, "Oh, damn it to Hades! You really messed her up, Pudge. Seeing her emotions is like looking straight down the crater of Vesuvius! She's barely even balanced right now. I think if she saw me or even Mabel, she'd tip over the edge and do something crazy. You'll have to go in alone."

"Aw! No, please don't make me. I really don't feel good. I've got an acid stomach, my head's, like, busting, and I think I'm coming down with a bug."

"You don't come down with bugs," Psyche reminded him, letting go of his ear, which he rubbed. "You've got divine immunity."

"That keep him from getting speeding tickets?" Mabel asked.

"Among other things," Psyche said. To Love God, she suggested, "If you're worried, just turn invisible and go in."

"I hate that!" Love God complained. "I haven't done that for, like, a couple centuries!"

"He likes to see his body," Psyche confided to Mabel. "It's a man thing. It's like if you're around a guy much and he's relaxing, you'll notice that sooner or later he'll put his hand down over his—"

"Know what you mean, sister," Mabel said. "Say no more."

"Mabel would've made a good Fury," Love God grumbled.

"I will take that as a compliment!" Mabel said. "But time's a-wasting! However, Psyche, if you'll let _me_  make a suggestion, don't send him in invisible."

"No?"

"Uh-uh. See, my Brobro and Wendy are _used_ to dealing with supernatural stuff. If they think something they can't see is snooping around, they'll go after it, and believe me, they're good. And she has an axe."

"Axe?" Love God asked nervously.

"Believe it, chump!" Mabel said.

"Still, Wendy must be calmed," Psyche said thoughtfully. "And once that happens, Pudge can safely appear and cancel out the spell. All right. Change of plan. First, I'll go in myself—but I think a disguise is in order. Who would Wendy be sure to trust?"

"Dipper," Mabel said with a sigh. "Dipper for sure.”

“No, if two Dippers showed up, it would be bad,” Psyche said. “Someone else.”

Mabel pondered. “Me, maybe—"

"No, she wouldn't tolerate _any_ girl right now," Love God said. "Not while the spell’s working. Trust me on this one."

"But I'm Dip's sister! She wouldn't be jealous of me!"

"Mm, I think she would, sister or no." Psyche said. To Love God, she murmured, "Remember Oedipus and his mom?"

"Threw great parties. Really rocked Thebes! Fun couple," Love God said. "I mean, up to a point. And, hey, there's Jupiter and Juno."

"I know what?" Mabel asked.

"Not ‘you know.’ JU-no," Love God said, enunciating deliberately. "Don't they teach you kids anything in school? Jupiter and Juno are married. King and Queen of the Roman gods. They also happen to be brother and sister. And they have kids."

"Huh!" Mabel said. "Don't they all have six eyes or act like idiots or something?"

"No, not at all." Psyche said. "Well—there _is_  Mars, but mostly the genetic rules are different in the divine dimension."

"Psych," Love God said, "come on, we're losin' the light! I'm still real iffy about this, but if we're gonna do anything we better get on the stick—"

"Very well. I'll disguise myself." Psyche snapped her fingers. "How's this?"

"Oh, man!" Mabel said. "You look just like him!"

"Hah!" said a perfect replica of her Grunkle Stan. "Thanks, Pumpkin. Get ready, Pudge. I'm goin' in!"

 


	10. Gravity Hurts

* * *

 

**Chapter 10: "Gravity Hurts"**

"Who's that?" Wendy asked, suddenly sitting up, tense in every muscle. She clamped her hand over Dipper's mouth. He felt her panic and confusion.

A crusty voice called out: "Ya in here, knuckleheads?"

"S-Stan?" Wendy asked. "You—how did you—?"

"How's it hangin’, Wendy? Dipper OK?" asked the silhouetted figure in the cave opening.

Dipper felt Wendy loosen her hold and her hand leave his mouth. He could also feel her rollercoaster of emotions, up and down, wild and out of control. "I'm OK," he said.

Stan scratched his head, or it looked like he did. In silhouette, with the diminishing light behind him, it was hard to tell. "That's good to hear. Everybody's worried. Wendy, guess you had a damn hard time of it."

"Mr. Pines?" Wendy said in the voice of a lost little girl. "I—Stan?" She began to weep, making Dipper's heart ache. "I'm all messed up, man."

"Yeah, yeah. OK if I come on in?"

Dipper felt Wendy's struggle. He sent her a mental message:  _It's OK. Maybe he can help. But it's your call. Whatever you want. I'm with you all the way._

She suspected a trick. She trusted Dipper. She wondered if he were lying to her. She knew he wasn't. Everything whirled in her head, but she made an effort and sent the thought:

— _Come in._

Gently, Dipper thought to her,  _He can't hear that. You have to say it out loud._

"Come in," Wendy said, her voice trembling. She really did sound like a ten-year-old who _knew_ there was a boogeyman in her closet. "Don't tell my dad about this. Please, Mr. Pines, don't."

"Hey, I can keep a secret. And it ain't been 'Mr. Pines' for a couple years, has it? Call me Stan." Stan came over, hunkered down, and laid his hand on Wendy's. For just a half-second, Dipper realized something was very different about him: he felt her reaction, and it was as though Wendy had touched a live electric wire, and the current had passed through her and into Dipper, whom she was still hugging with her left arm.

"Yeah," Stan said, his voice becoming soft and warm. "Easy, easy. Hey, Wendy, remember when we jiggered that cop car at Christmas? That was a hoot! You done good, girl. Proud of you. Rest easy, I won't say a word to Manly Dan. I won't promise on my honor, 'cause I got none of that, but you know you can trust me."

"I—I do know that. Thanks, man. I'm so—I brought Dipper here, don’t blame him, ‘cuz it's not his fault—"

"Yeah, I know that. And I know why you're messed up, too. OK, since you let me come in, let me help you now. You heard about the layin' on of hands? Yeah, I know, it's fake and BS and all, but I learned a little trick that will help ease you off this crazy emotional thing you got going on. I gotta put my hand on your head, though. And I can't do it without your consent, so is it OK?"

That crazy swinging rush of feelings again, and Wendy, a tiny Wendy, like a girl all alone on a vast, midnight, stormy sea, trying not to drown, fought to say yes—Dipper sent her all the encouragement he could, and she groaned, "I don't know, I don't know—they want to take Dipper away from me! I don't want to hurt him—I have to let him go—I have to keep him safe—I don't know what I want!"

"Wendy," Dipper said aloud, "one time I didn't trust Grunkle Stan, and that was the crucial time when I _should_ have. I've been sorry ever since. I'm with you. I won't leave you ever. It's OK. Let him help."

"I—I guess." Wendy closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and lowered her chin.

"That's good," Stan said, and he put his big hand on her head. After a moment, she slumped. "There. She'll sleep for a few minutes."

"Grunkle Stan—"

The figure stood up. "Guess again." The form of his great-uncle melted and instantly reformed as a woman.

Dipper yelped and snatched Wendy's axe, brandishing it as he jumped up. "You get away from her!"

The woman raised her hands and backed off. "Your heart and hers want to protect each other so strongly," she said softly. "That's good."

Dipper was shaking with the need to do—something, he didn't know what. "Who are you?  _What_  are you?"

She smiled. "I could tell you, but your sister can introduce us, and you'l believe her. Mabel, husband, come in now."

Though she had not raised her voice, Love God and Mabel ran in as if she'd yelled for them. Mabel rushed straight to Dipper and hugged him. "You OK?"

"Yeah, but Wendy's in real rough shape," Dipper said.

"Watch that axe! Hey, where are your clothes?" Mabel asked, seeming to become aware for the first time that her twin wore only his shorts.

"In Wendy's car. Long story. I know that's Love God, but who's the woman hugging him?"

"Dipper, meet Psyche. She's married to L.G. Psyche, this is my brother Dipper. You should like him. You're Psyche, he's practically psycho!"

"Can you guys please help Wendy?" Dipper asked, his voice tense. He gripped the axe tightly. "'Cause if you mean to hurt her, you'll have to get past me!"

"Relax, kid," Love God said. "Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. Look, this was a silly little misunderstanding, that's all."

"Dip," Mabel said, "he tried to shoot me with a jealousy curse or something, but he missed and hit Wendy!"

"What!"

The Love God shuffled his feet in the sand and looked embarrassed. "Look, I was tired and edgy and just off a hard set, OK? All right, let me look at the patient." Love God raised both of his hands, thumb to thumb, palms spread, and held them a few inches above Wendy's head. "Man, I do good work! OK, she's kinda scrambled but it's cool, I can take care of this. Jealousy will end right here, be again as once you were!" A golden beam of light leaped from his hands and hit Wendy, who flinched and jerked but didn't wake up. "Psych, see how she's doing."

Psyche said, "I'll have to touch her again."

"Go ahead," Dipper told her, but he held onto the axe.

Psyche knelt and touched Wendy's head again, closed her eyes, and hummed a little tuneless melody. "She will recover." She stood up. "It will take some time. You'll have to comfort her and help her understand that this was not her fault. If you show her you still love her, she should be all right soon—but unless you reach her and touch her deeply, she'll have a difficult day or two."

"We cool?" Love God said, smiling. He held out his hand for a fist-bump. "We're cool, right?"

Dipper sighed, dropped the axe, took a step forward, and made a fist.

A moment later, Love God looked up from where he lay sprawled on the sandy floor of the cave. "Hey!  _Not_  cool!"

"Go, Dipper!" Mabel said admiringly. "What was that?"

"Left hook," Dipper said, shaking his hand. "Grunkle Stan didn't tell me how much it would hurt!"

"You should be on  _my_  end," Love God groaned, sitting up and holding his jaw. "I ought to blast you with a love-stinks spell."

"But you won't," Psyche said firmly. "You know you deserved that!"

"Yeah, yeah. Help me up." Psyche gave him a hand, and he got to his feet, still rubbing his jaw. "Not bad, kid. All right, I messed with your girl, even though I didn't mean to, so I'll give you a pass this one time. But no .mp3's for you! We even, Mabel?"

"Depends on how Wendy does."

"If she's not OK," Dipper said, his voice barely hiding his fury, "we  _will_  come after you. It doesn't matter where you hide or how far you go, or what dimension you're in. We'll find you!"

"Yeah, and then you'll be sorry! 'Cause we're the Mystery Twins!" Mabel announced, and they did the fist-bump, though Dipper said, "Ow!"

"You won't have to, Dipper. Wendy will be all right. Come on, Pudge," Psyche said. "Let them handle it now." She tickled his chin with a crooked finger. "There's a sandalwood candle waiting with your name on it."

With a grin, Love God took her hand—and they vanished in a soundless blue explosion.

"I don't understand any of this," Dipper complained.

"I'll explain," Mabel said. "But we have to find some way to get home."

Dipper picked up Wendy's phone. "We could call—but I think she's coming around." He sat on the floor and cradled Wendy's head in his lap. He put his hand on her cheek and felt her easing out of a tangled nightmare and into a calmer mood. Her eyes fluttered. Vaguely, she asked, "What happened?"

"Come on," Dipper said. "Mabel's going to tell us everything. Are you OK?" He helped her up, and she stood unsteadily.

"Uh—I don't know—what did I do to you, Dip? I—did I lose my mind? I remember—did I hurt you? It's all fuzzy!"

"I'm fine," Dipper told her, leaning down to pick up something. "Here's your axe."

She took it and automatically put it in its scabbard, on her back and under her long hair. "Mabel? I—should I apologize to you? Did I say something really mean to you?"

"Nope," Mabel said. "But I think you stole Brobro's clothes!"

"Did I? Oh, my God, Dipper, I'm so sorry!"

"Come on," Dipper said. "We'd better hurry. It's getting dark."

In the fading light of sunset, they crossed Creepy Hollow, the valley that once had been the realm of nightmares, came to the path through the woods—Jeff the Gnome popped up and called to Dipper, "Look at you, practically naked and with two girls! Guess a squirrel bath looks pretty _tame_ now, huh!" and then hurriedly vanished in the ferns.

Dipper had trouble walking—he was barefoot, and the rocks first and then the brambles and roots were rough underfoot. They finally got down the hill, to a place where a log cabin, long gone, had once stood, and he saw Wendy's car ahead. It wasn't locked, and in fact both front doors hung open. Mabel opened the back door and found his clothes, and he pulled on jeans and tee shirt and shoes, without worrying about the socks.

"Dudes," Wendy said, leaning on the hood of the car, "I—man, I'm so light-headed! I don't think I’m safe to drive."

Mabel started to speak, but Dipper hurriedly cut in: "I'll drive. Let me have your keys. Mabel, you ride shotgun. Wendy, get in the middle and just put your arm around my neck, OK?"

He had to adjust the seat—he was still somewhat shorter than Wendy, and his legs were not as long as hers—but he turned the ignition key, the engine started, and he thought to her:  _Teach me how to do this._

— _OK, Dip. Here it comes. Take everything I know about driving._

It came to him in a flash flood of thought and instinct. He thought,  _This kind of info exchange is gonna come in real handy when we're in college together!_

He knew exactly what to do, though he'd only ever driven a golf cart before. They fastened their seatbelts, he adjusted the mirrors, put the Dart into reverse and pulled a perfect three-point turn and then bumped down the long, overgrown drive and onto the highway.

"What if you get arrested?" Mabel asked from the far side of Wendy.

"All the cops are at Woodstick," Dipper told her. "Except maybe Blubs and Durland."

"That's OK, then," Mabel said. "Floor it!"

"I think not."

He obeyed the traffic laws and stayed five miles per hour under the speed limits, got them safely to the Shack, and in the half-full lot he parked close to Wendy's usual spot. They found a note on the Shack door:  _Visiting Mrs. Gleeful with the baby. Leftovers are in the refrigerador. Rosa._

Mabel fished out her key and unlocked the front door of the Shack. "Dipper, man," Wendy said in a shaky voice, "you better go get your stuff out of my car. If Dad found it in there—"

"I'll take care of it. Mabel, let Wendy lie down in your room, OK?"

"You got it."

Dipper went back and collected his jacket, socks, bandanna, and phone. Night was coming on. He took some deep breaths and then went inside. Mabel sat at the dining-room table. "How is she?" he asked his twin sister.

"Confused. Resting, though," Mabel said. "Dipper, listen to me: I don't know what goofy things she did or said, but it's not her fault!"

"Of course not!"

"She is going to be needy, and you are going to be kind and supportive! She'll snap back in a day or two, but you have to be extra-extra-nice to her!"

"I will be!"

"Then stop arguing with me!" Mabel rubbed her eyes. "Wait, you weren't, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired and mad! I'm gonna call Robbie and he'll let everybody know you guys are all right."

She made the call and got Robbie to understand her—though even Dipper could hear the blare of loud music from Woodstick through her phone—and then spent half an hour telling Dipper what had happened. She pumped him for some answers, too.

He said something about what had gone on in the cave, but refused to go into specifics. "She just knew something had happened to her, but not what," he said. "She was so scared, Mabel! I've never seen her scared before. I felt helpless."

"Then make up for it!" She jumped off her stool. "I'm gonna go check on her. You remember what I told you—be extra, extra nice! Oh, and Brobro? I wish you'd punched out Love God twice as hard!"

 


	11. A Little Night Music

* * *

 

**Chapter 11: A Little Night Music**

**(August 1-3, 2014)**

Mabel tapped on the door. Wendy moaned, "Go away!"

But of course, Mabel opened the door. "Wendy, come on. You _know_ all that wasn't your fault, don't you?" She came over and sat on the side of her own bed. Wendy lay on her side with her back to the room and to Mabel, curled up, clutching a pillow against her stomach.

"Mabes," she said in a tired voice, "I made such a fool of myself. Dipper's not gonna forget that."

"No," Mabel agreed, drawing her knees up and hugging them. "But _you're_  not going to forget when he had an alien parasite inside him and yelled at you and didn't mean it."

Wendy wouldn't look at her. "Yeah, but I didn't have a parasite."

"Come on," Mabel said. "You had a mean love spell cast on you. Know what it was? 'Extreme Jealousy.' I'd say that makes a person just as cray-cray as an alien bug gnawing at their brain."

"I couldn't  _stop_  myself," Wendy groaned. "It's all coming back to me, and it's awful. And Dipper—he's too freakin' nice to yell at me or shake me when I need it!"

"That's 'cause in his eyes you  _never_  need it," Mabel said. "Not even when you're a little—" she drew air circles around her forehead with an outstretched finger—"Coo-Coo!"

Wendy turned onto her back. Her eyes were red. "I dunno. Dipper will forgive me. Yeah, I know he'd do that. But I don't know if I can forgive  _myself_. I hurt him, Mabel. I know I really hurt him."

"Look," Mabel said, reaching over and taking her hand. "I'm not as old as you and I haven't had as many boyfriends as you've had. I mean, I'm working on it, but I have a way to go, you know? But even with all that said, I am one billion per cent sure, 'cause I can feel it, that if you hurt somebody that you love, you can heal that hurt if they just love you back. And Dipper does. I mean, take me and Trey Moulter, he was a guy I went with for a while—oh, yeah, I told you about him. Anyway, when he pissed me off—"

"Mabel!" Wendy said, but it made her chuckle just a tiny bit, too.

"Well, he did! I kinda told him off major league. And used my fists for emphasis. He didn't love me. Deep down I always knew that. And after we broke up, I felt bad for, like, a day, but then the hurting part just went away. But Mermando, my first kiss—he had to return to the sea and marry a manatee, and that cut deep into me, but you know what? I think I could smooth all that over and get back together with him because of what we had. Wouldn't be practical, 'cause I guess I'd have to wear SCUBA gear 24/7, but still."

"You mean I ought to ask Dipper to take me back," Wendy murmured.

"Nope. You don't even have to do  _that_ ," Mabel insisted with confidence. "And  _he_  doesn't have to take you back, 'cause you never left his heart. You're still right in there. Trust me on this. Mabel knows."

Wendy sniffled. "It's gonna be awkward."

Mabel squeezed her hand. "Yeah, but you wrestled  _yourself_  once, and that was awkward. You can deal with this."

Wendy rolled her head on the pillow, shaking it slowly. "You overheard what I told Dip about the Shapeshifter, huh?"

"What can I say? I was close by and I'm naturally nosy. Anyway, about this thing now, I've got an idea," Mabel said. "You're not gonna run out on us, are you?"

"Guess not," Wendy said. "I don't have anywhere to go, 'cept back home to an empty house, and tomorrow my brothers would, like, beat up on me bad if they saw me in this shape."

Mabel's voice became edgy: "Beat up? You don't mean—"

Wendy rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hand. "No, I don't mean physically. Emotionally. They'd rag on me about bein' a crybaby for, like, forever."

"OK, so you need to get yourself all collected before then. I'm going upstairs to talk to Dipper for a few minutes. You just take some deep breaths. And when we get together with my brother, you _don't_ have to apologize, you don't have to ask him how he feels, you don't have to do or say one thing. Just _be_ there with him and me, OK?"

"OK."

"Gotta get something out of my top drawer first," Mabel said. She opened it, reached in, and held whatever she had taken out so Wendy couldn't see it. "I'll come back and get you in a minute," she said. "Then you, me, and Brobro will go for a little walk."

* * *

 

"No," Dipper said a few minutes later, up in the attic where he sat fretting on the edge of his bed. "I can't do that! I meant to, I even hinted I would, but—you know I'm not ready for—"

"Dipper!" Mabel said. "You listen to me, Mister! That wonderful girl you love is layin' down on my bed with her heart fractured into a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, where half the pieces are all green grass and you're sure there's one missing! I hate that! You go nuts and start sorting out the colors in the box top—"

"Focus," Dipper suggested. "I need to go apologize to her—"

"No, you  _don't_!" Mabel insisted. "That's the _worst_ thing you can do! And she doesn't need to tell you  _she's_  sorry, either! You and she have nothing to be sorry about! It was the stupid Love God spell that was meant for me but hit her by mistake, understand? That made her crazy bonkers jealous! Now _she_  feels guilty, get me? You gotta let her know it doesn't matter to you, OK? And even with your mind-reading trick and all, this is the only way to make her know for sure!"

"But—I'll screw up—"

"The only way! And the time is  _now_! You know it, I know it! Come on!"

"Where—where are we going?"

Mabel closed and disconnected the charging cord from his laptop and picked it up from the table. "To the bonfire clearing! I'm set. Now get what  _you_  need and let's go!"

* * *

 

Night was falling, and they kindled a small campfire. Wendy, still decked out in her hippie-girl costume, sat near it on the log, slumped over, huddled, sad-faced, and staring at the yellow, flickering flames. Once or twice she started to speak, but Mabel constantly shushed her—and Dipper, too, when he looked like he might be starting to think about the remote possibility of maybe saying something, clearing his throat, or sneezing.

Dipper had changed back into T-shirt, vest, shorts, and sneakers. And the pine-tree hat. His old, old standby outfit. That all made him look younger and more vulnerable. He sat on a small chunk of log that he had hauled up across the fire from Wendy and Mabel—Mabel had warned, "No touchie voodoo mind reading yet!" From where he sat, he could see Wendy without being pushy about getting so close to her that he might make her uncomfortable.

Like Wendy, and because of Mabel, he kept a nervous, glum silence. All around them the crickets chirred and in the dark sky above, bats swooped and chittered. A lonely owl far off  _hoo-hooed_  to himself. The fire crackled. It was around ten o'clock, and though the evening air, Dipper could even hear the faint bass of classic rock music coming from Woodstick, miles away, as the festival wound down for the night.

Mabel had lugged the laptop along. She turned it on and fiddled with it for a minute or two. "You guys missed this," she said. "The Tombstones played this one number that Robbie really wanted you to hear. I took this video on my phone and transferred it over to the computer. Dip, come and sit beside Wendy. Good, that's close enough. Wendy, hold this on your knees and hit  _enter_  to play it. Come on, do it!"

Hesitantly, glancing sideways at Dipper, Wendy started the video. The shot showed Robbie in the foreground, Tambry at the keyboard close behind him, the other musicians out of focus in the rear. The clip didn't begin with Robbie's intro, but started just as he hit the first chord. The music spilled out, rocking and loud.

"Hey!" Dipper said after a few bars. "That's—that's my song!"

"What?" Wendy asked.

"I _wrote_ that tune! It's 'Cold Creek!' I mean, my version's slow, more a ballad, you know, but Robbie's arranged it like a rock number—it doesn't sound too bad!"

"Dude," Wendy said, "it sounds  _hot_! You  _wrote_  this? Dipper!"

The music took Cold Creek tumbling over the rocks and gliding fast through the smooth patches and then rushing down the cascades and came to a ringing finish, and the video ended as the crowd started to cheer. Mabel reached over, took the laptop, turned it off, and closed it.

"Took me a while to recognize the melody, too," Mabel said. "Did that music touch you, Dipper?"

"Well—yeah! I gotta thank Robbie. I mean, I never thought it could sound that good!"

"Keep that in mind!" Mabel set the laptop aside and reached for her recorder. "OK, that was just the intro to the big deal. Wendy, now Dipper's gonna do something just for you."

"What is it, Dipper?" Wendy asked, her smile warm but uncertain.

"Don't apologize!" Mabel told her brother. "Wendy, I'm gonna help him out. Then if you two feel better, I'm going back to the Shack. You guys can do whatever you need to. Whatever feels right." She looked across Wendy and smiled at Dipper. "It's time, Brobro. Tell her."

Dipper drew a deep breath. "Wendy, what happened wasn't your—"

" _Not_  that," Mabel said, but gently.

"OK." Dipper picked up his guitar, strummed the strings, made a couple of nervous adjustments.

Mabel held up her recorder. "Let me give you a G, Bro." She blew a clear, steady note on the instrument.

Dipper tuned to it and nodded. "Mabel, I've got to say this to her, first, OK? Wendy, back last spring when I thought I might lose you, I, uh. I kind of wrote a song. It's not very good. I mean, not as good as it needs to be or I'd like it to be. And I can't really sing, you know. But I wrote it for you, and I hope you like it a little. Mabel's going to help me out on the melody. She—well, nobody—nobody's ever heard the lyrics."

He strummed some introductory notes, nodded, and Mabel started to play a simple melody on the recorder. Wendy sat up straighter, her eyes widening. Then Dipper began, softly and rather uncertainly, to sing the lyrics:

 

* * *

I will always believe in fairy tales,

And I'll wish on a shooting star,

I'll always keep searching for Wonderland,

For that is where you are.

Oh, Wendy, you're my magic girl,

And you're all my dreams come true,

If I could own the whole wide world,

I would give it all to you,

I would give it all to you.

For I'll always believe in fairy tales,

And I'll wish on a shooting star,

And I'm still searchin' for Wonderland,

'Cause that is where you are.

I'll take you to enchanted lands,

Show you all that's rich and rare,

Let's fly to the moon and back again,

Oh, come with me if you dare,

Fly with me if you dare.

For I'll always believe in fairy tales,

And I'll wish on a shooting star,

I'll always keep searching for Wonderland,

For that is where you are.

You're my princess in a tower, girl,

And my shining star so true,

I'm just a frog, but kiss me and

I'll be a prince for you.

Oh, let's believe in fairy tales,

And princesses in towers,

Fly with this frog to Wonderland,

For all Wonderland is ours,

Yes, all Wonderland is ours.

* * *

 

He finished, and Mabel trailed off with some grace notes. Staring into the fire, Dipper said hoarsely, "I wrote it just for you. I know it's corny and dopey, but—well, at least it doesn't have any back-masked messages."

"Oh, Dipper!" Wendy said.

They fell into an embrace and hugged tightly, as if they'd never let go. Mabel barely caught his guitar to keep it from toppling into the campfire. Then she said in a happy-weepy voice, "'I'll wish on a shooting star!' That's real nice, Dip. Thank you for putting that part in."

In the dancing light of the fire, Dipper and Wendy remained locked together. "I'm never letting go of you," he whispered, his voice muffled against her neck. "Not ever. No matter how long we have to wait, no matter if Manly Dan wants to pound on me. Never letting go, Magic Girl. Never again."

"It's a wonderful song," Wendy whispered. "What a beautiful surprise, dude. And I'm hangin' on to you, too, Big Dipper, come hell or high water or demons from the dream dimension, or stupid Love Gods, or  _whatever_!"

"Are we still, uh, you know, still good then?" Dipper asked.

She laughed out loud. "Yeah, dude!"

Mabel hefted Dipper's guitar and managed to hold the laptop and her recorder in her other hand. "My work here is done," she announced. "Have fun, guys!"

When she left them, Wendy and Dipper were sitting together on the log in front of the campfire, still hugging, now kissing. Probably using their touch-telepathy to get everything off their chests. It was good. It was all good.

As she got close to the Bottomless Pit and the trees overhead thinned out, Mabel could see the stars. And a bright meteor drew a sudden, short streak. "I'll wish on a shooting star," she whispered. But out loud, she said, "Thanks, anyway, but right now I have all that a girl could wish for." She chuckled. "And I think my brother and his girlfriend would say the same."

Humming the tune—she was getting to like it more and more—she headed toward the Shack. In the light from the porch and the parking lot, she saw a thin figure just walking down the front steps. "Teek!" she yelled, and he stopped.

"Uh, hi," he said, turning with his hands in his pockets as she approached. "Uh, my folks went to see the midnight eighties tribute show at Woodstick, so I was alone in the house and I rode my bike over to see if you were back, but I thought nobody was home—mph!"

When they broke apart, he said, "Wow. That was great, Mabel, but, uh, what did I do to deserve a kiss like that?"

"I'll tell you all about it as soon as I put this junk inside," she said. She did—nearly tossed them inside, in fact, just setting them all against a wall so nobody would step on them in the dark—and then came out and grabbed his hand. "Let's go for a walk, Teek," she said, and he squeezed her hand. "A long, romantic walk, just you and me. Maybe if we're lucky we'll see a shooting star."

They were.

They did.

And it was a very good night.

* * *

 

_The End_

 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who'd like to hear Dipper's song: I composed music as well as lyrics for it. There's a beautiful instrumental version arranged and performed by a composer friend of mine on my SoundCloud page, along with a guitar demo by another young musician friend of mine, and a full guitar/vocal by yet another old friend who is a trained opera singer, who has performed at Carnegie Hall—and he's a bass, so he's probably better at this than Dip! Just look for the SoundCloud page of William S.F.X. Easley (stands for St. Francis Xavier, OK?). And on the off chance you'd like to play the danged thing, I've put sheet music up in an album on my Facebook page (look for William X. Easley on FB). I only ask that no one perform or produce recordings for which they get money.
> 
> This is the first song I ever composed, so be nice!


End file.
